


Don't Say "Fairytale" (Nothing Good Ever Happens in Fairytales)

by LettreDeMarque



Series: The Other!Fic [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Crack, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Elements, I'm tired, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Magic, Multi, Mythology - Freeform, Slow Burn, The romance tags have been removed because I can't write romance. Oops., Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 17:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 61,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3537353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LettreDeMarque/pseuds/LettreDeMarque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Stiles adjusted to life in another universe where his best friend is alpha werewolf, his town was over run by zombies, and an unknown trickster god has a crush on him. The only thing "normal" about the whole situation is he's not the only who came back from the dead. Now if only his revival buddy would lose some of the manpain so they could bond over their mutual not-deadness and the fact that fairies are assholes.</p><p> </p><p>[It'll be a while until the next chapter because society doesn't respect the necessity of sleep for people who have work at 3am. Sorry!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Merlin's Son

**Author's Note:**

> These chapters are longer than I'm used to writing, but I'll try to get them out in a timely manner. Enjoy!

A rusty pickup skidded to a stop on a high mountain side road almost rolling off the side of a cliff. A tall, dark, and generally sour occupant kicked open the driver's side door and stepped out on to the day-old pack of snowfall.

After taking a deep breath the sour occupant cupped his hands around his mouth and gave out the loudest roar his human shaped vocal cords could muster.

 

"Sierra! Sierra Nevada!" Derek's shout bounced across the jagged peaks growing softer with each repetition. "I know you're there, you damned fox!"

 

"Keep talking charmer," an other-worldly voice purred.

 

The fox-of-the-snowy-mountains slunk out of a pine’s long shadow and shifted into human form. The sight of the androgynous form of the god (or goddess since Derek couldn't really tell) was a shock to see in person. Scott’s description hadn’t done the deity justice.

 

The god(ess?) tilted its head mockingly. "How kind of you to visit me," it said.

 

Scott's pack, Derek included, were hiding out on the California/Nevada border after leaving Argentina. It had been Stiles’s idea to be hired on by a cruise ship as a means of making it to a northern port undetected. From there the pack had hopped from town to town downwards with the intent of returning to Beacon Hills eventually. They weren’t in a hurry. They didn’t need to be the heroes this time. They could let someone else take the brunt of the old Argent’s insanity. It was too bad they had already defeated the Alpha pack, then they could have just sic’d those assholes on Gerard and hid under a rock until it was over. Even Scott, despite his hero-complex, was hesitant to return to the place where he had ‘failed’ as a true Alpha, thus letting his best friend die.

 

The pack was over joyed by their friends’ return, but as the fox had warned it wasn’t really ‘their’ Stiles who had revived. Derek knew that could only mean that their Stiles was in a better place.

 

Miraculously neither hunter nor werewolf pack had crossed their path as they made their way downward from Seattle. Derek wasn't stupid enough to believe that the extra divine protection didn't come without a price tag. This was especially because the fox god(ess?) had made it very clear that Derek didn't need to be  _alive_  for a negotiation with Derek's first ancestor to work in the fox's favor. But the pack needed all the allies it could get.

 

"Did you come to a decision?" the fox asked conversationally.

 

"I will take back what belongs to me and my family," Derek promised darkly. "That's what you want right? What affects Beacon Hills affects your territory also?"

 

"All worlds are connected," the fox nodded morosely. "Even us mountain hermits are not immune and, unfortunately, usually by the time the news reaches us, it is too late."

 

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" an enthusiastic voice interrupted. Stiles leapt up from his hiding place in the bed of Derek's pickup truck making Derek jump in surprise and the fox cackle lightly. 

"I got it! I figured it out!" Stiles punched the air in victory before pointing to the fox. "Derek's  _your_  favorite!"

 

"The last son of a dying bloodline is a very precious thing," the fox reminded in a bored tone. "He makes a very good bargaining chip. We great ancestors love all our children unconditionally. His ancestor is no different."

 

"But I'm someone else's favorite," Stiles continued. "Someone you refuse to tell us about, but I'd bet a fortune it's another trickster like you."

 

"I'd take those odds to Vegas," the fox admitted knowing it was pointless to deny the human his realization.

 

"But!" Stiles grinned, positively enthralled by the idea, "Scott is  _also_  someone's favorite. There is a third trickster! I bet they were the one to get the ball rolling."

 

The fox clicked its tongue. "Goodness, somebody's spreading rumors that tricksters are actually decent people." The fox looked around coyly. "I need to find a whoopee-cushion or something. If word gets out people are going to demand all sorts of favors. We can't have that happen now."

 

Stiles belted out a laugh and Derek rubbed his face aggrieved. 

 

"So you are nice," Stiles smirked. "Not like 'buy-you-a-cake-on-your-birthday' nice, but like 'congradulations-on-surviving-another-year-here's-a-fake-eyeball-in-your-red-koolaid' nice."

 

"That's not very 'nice'," Derek muttered.

 

"I like you! Let's be friends!" the fox declared and marched up to Stiles.

 

The human suddenly found himself squatting down with the fox like schoolgirls with a secret. The fox smothered a round of giggles directed at Derek's obvious discomfort at having lost all control over the situation. Stiles smothered his own laugh which caused the fox to giggle more.

 

When the fox finished snickering it asked, "So, Stiles, have you been studying up on magic?"

 

"Uh, yeah." Stiles rubbed the back of his head. "Just the basics. There are so many kinds of magic. I don't know what to focus on."

 

The fox nodded understandingly. "It's harder for humans because they don't know their true natures or they keep their true natures hidden because society demands it to be so. I am a fox, so I have foxy magic. It would be silly of me to try using something else, like great white shark magic for instance."

 

"Oh, wow," Stiles's eyes widened at the thought. "What's great white shark magic like?"

 

The fox shrugged. "Fishy, I guess? Probably more focused and constant, like how a shark needs to swim or it dies. Orca magic is a lot like wolf magic, though. Orcas hunt in pods like wolves hunt in packs. For both orca and wolf magic the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. A loner is weak, but together they are awesome." The fox grinned excitedly. "If you have compatible magics like that, then the two could work together. Wolves and Orcas? Cool combo if you ask me."

 

Stiles cocked his head. "It's not like that for everyone?"

 

The fox shook its head negatively. "A group effort would actually be counterproductive for great white shark magic. Think about a rock band with two drummers. It sounds like a cool idea, but it's really hard to pull off."

 

"Huh." Stiles thought about it. "So wolves and orcas are like trumpets then? One alone is pretty cool, but the more the merrier?"

 

"Yup."

 

"So I have to figure out what  _Stiles_  magic is like?"

 

"Yup again."

 

"Got any ideas?"

 

The fox shrugged. "We're similar enough that I could make you a new body, but it's like the wolf and orca thing. Similar, but not the exact same. A wolf couldn't teach an orca how to hunt."

 

"Darn." Stiles snapped his fingers. He thought for a minute and then said casually, "So, I hear you suck at lying. You know, for a trickster and all."

 

The fox shrugged again which Stiles took to mean "yes".

 

Stiles pointed to Derek, "So, if you say something that's not true, my buddy Derek will know?"

 

"I'm not your 'buddy'." Derek growled.

 

Stiles hushed him and looked pointedly at the fox. He met the fox's eyes in a manner that was challenging. He hoped that, as a god(ess?), the fox would be compelled not to back down from a lowly human.

 

"So, let me see if I got this math right," the human said. "There are three tricksters, but you're the only one who showed yourself to us. See if I were part of a merry band of tricksters, me and my friends would be complete trolls and we'd be all over poking fun at the simple-minded, tiny little hu-" Stiles stopped and gave a fleeting glance at Derek. "Mortals,” He amended. “But the other two are hiding."

 

"It's not like a trickster to not take the credit for a trick," the fox pointed out.

 

"See I think that you're the flashy one," Stiles explained. "Excellent distraction-"

 

"Why thank you," the fox beamed.

 

"But you also have the least amount to lose," Stiles continued and the fox frowned at that. "I bet that if you die, all the rest of your species dies with you."

 

"That comes with the assumption that I actually can die," the fox said. "And the last time I checked, I am an immortal."

 

"Yeah, not so sure about that." Stiles told the fox. "And in the grand scheme of things, one rare fox species isn't that big a deal."

 

The fox narrowed its eyes dangerously, but Stile's powered through his explanation. Derek glared at him all the time and the expression had lost its original charm several months back.

 

"The other two though," Stiles said, "I bet people would notice if they went missing." Stiles matched the fox's gaze with a serious look of his own. "You see, I think Scott was just supposed to save one person. Derek over there was just a happy accident-“

 

“How do we know you weren’t the ‘happy accident’?” Derek interrupted tersely.

 

Stiles ignored him and continued by saying, “That also just so happens to be the perfect cover story so the other spirits don't catch on to what's really going on. You could bring me back no problem because I'm 'compatible with your magic', but so is Derek and I was kinda wondering about that."

 

"That's a cute story." The fox said.

 

"You're not just the distraction," Stiles said. "You're the scapegoat if this plan goes south. Every night when you leech Derek's emotional pain just so he can get up in the morning (which thank you by the way despite how insanely creepy that is), I bet you don't even bat an eyelash. Derek's mess of guilt, trust issues, and everything else, that's all second fiddle to your own problems, isn't it? I mean, being a great ancestor sounds like a lot of responsibility. That's why Derek's your favorite. That's why you could bring him back too." He took a deep breath. "Now tell me anything I just said is wrong."

 

"Like I said," the fox's face smiled, but its eyes still maintained a deadly glint. "That's a cute story. I was  _very_  entertained."

 

Stiles sighed and combed his fingers through his hair. "Nothing?" he whined. "Come on, give me something to work off here, Obi-wan!"

 

"Fine," the fox relented. "I'll tell you one thing you got wrong."

 

"Did I get everything else right?" Stiles asked hesitantly.

 

"No, but I'm also not telling." The fox wiggled its body smugly. "One thing you got wrong is I wasn't the one who brought Derek back."

 

"What?!" Stiles and Derek shouted at the same time and the fox flinched back.

 

"Don't worry, you're still my favorite," the fox said to Derek while it rubbed its tender ears. "I didn't have to revive you because someone else did it for me."

 

"Who?!" Stiles demanded.

 

_You did._

 

Stiles looked up, but neither Derek nor the fox were paying attention to him anymore and were exchanging dark glares for baleful smirks. Stiles looked around to see if there were any other first ancestor gods lurking nearby, but there was not a beast or shrub in sight.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Derek's expressive eyebrows convinced Stiles to ride in the cabin instead of the bed of the truck as they drove back down the mountain. The awkward silence that ensued was making Stiles reconsider that decision, but he didn't want to ask Derek to pull over and be tempted to leave him forcing Stiles to walk the ten miles back to their camp.

 

The passenger window fogged up as Stiles sighed. Stiles wasn't interested in admiring the mountain scenery anyway. He could practically read Derek's mind, something about what had Stiles been thinking tagging along, _what did he think he was proving mouthing off to their only source of information?_ And a whole slew of other questions rooted in anger.

 

But Derek said nothing and in Stiles's opinion that was even worse. It was like everyone was walking around on eggshells around him even though he wasn't the one waking up every other night from night terrors.

 

There were inside jokes he didn't get. There were fire-forged friendships that he had no hand in making. Freaking  _Lydia Martin_  acknowledged his existence! It was backwards and inside out day every day. Werewolves, druids, and fairies, oh my! The whole thing about being favored by ancestral gods of animals was actually the easiest thing to accept. Stiles had done a bit of reading on prehistorical mythology in his universe between being socially humiliated and blackmailed by high school students.

 

Then there was Derek Hale, someone Stiles vaguely knew (if he squinted at his memory hard enough) from a distance because he had a weird family and creepy sisters. This world's Derek… just once Stiles had caught a glimpse at the trail of dark hair leading down from Derek's bellybutton to unexplored territory. In the next instant Stile's mind retreated backwards into the deepest, darkest form of denial he knew so fast Stiles was momentarily convinced he was part box turtle. The “Derek Hale issue” had been shelved for exploration scheduled on the 5th of never. To keep it that way Stiles dived into reviewing every form of magic on the face of the Earth.

 

Which brought up the even more pressing issue of nothing sticking. Nothing, natta, nope, zilch. Stiles was decidedly not the next up and coming Dr. Strange. Stiles couldn't even pull of a decent card trick.

 

"Shut up,” Derek snapped.

 

Stiles gave his snarly chuffer a look. "I didn't  _say_  anything!"

 

"I can practically hear you thinking," Derek told him.

 

"I can't exactly turn my brain off, you know!"

 

"No, but you can try not to think as hard," Derek retorted through grit teeth. "Over thinking the situation isn't going to fix it."

 

"Because your method always works," Stiles shot back sarcastically. "Because the way I heard it, if you had actually listened to Scott and the other me a little bit more in the beginning we wouldn't be in this mess! The other me would still be alive with the awesome wizard powers, but you're stuck with just plain old boring me now, so you're going to have to deal."

 

"You shouldn't have followed me," Derek growled.

 

"Because you're such a master interrogator?"

 

"No," Derek said after a deep breath. "Because now you're going to be late for work and we use that money to eat, stupid."

 

"What?" Stiles glanced at the clock on Derek's dashboard and suddenly remembered that they were now in daylight savings time. The truck's clock hadn't been adjusted to reflect the time change. "Oh, shit! I was supposed to be at work 20 minutes ago! What are you doing? Floor it or something!"

 

The werewolf was taking entirely too much enjoyment out of the human boy's suffering and it was obvious by the borderline psychotic smirk Derek was sporting.

 

Derek said, "I'm not going to compromise our safety and the safety of other motorists because of your poor decision-making skills."

 

"Come on, Derek!” Stiles pleaded. “My boss is going to kill me!"

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Mr. Stilinski, would you mind explaining why you're almost an hour late to work this afternoon?"  Although the convenience store was deserted and there wasn't likely to be anyone to hear Stiles scream for miles, the store manager spoke in a cold and slightly bored tone.

 

Stiles had learned early on that not all red heads had a fiery temper. The misconception was due to the Scottish,  _obviously_ andStiles’s manager, Neirin Abmyrddin, was  _'obviously_  Welsh.32 years old, single woman originally from the Chicago area, hated cats, was indifferent about children, and was allowing Stiles a moment to plead his case before making any definite plans on how to bump him off the Chicago way.

 

"Um, traffic?"

 

The manager gave a pointed side glance to the frontage road that ran passed the front of the gas station. They were lucky if they could get five cars to stop every hour. The store made enough money off of road-trippers to keep afloat, but in the off season there wasn't much happening.

 

She looked back at Stiles and asked, "Really? Want to try that again?"

 

"Car trouble?"

 

"Are you asking me?"

 

"No..."

 

The store manager sighed. The only reason she had hired the nit-wit was because there weren't any other teenagers in the single stoplight town. The country kids could all get paid under the table at the factory where their folks, aunts and uncles, and sometimes even grandparents worked. The manager couldn't hire anyone under the age of 18 because the convenience store stocked beer and the town's population of employable 18 year olds now totaled the new vet tech and Mr. Stilinski. Everyone else had taken off once school let out.

 

"All I'm asking is a slightly more believable excuse so I don't have to write your ass up,  _again_." She put emphasis on that last word because the only thing worse than running a store was the extra paperwork that came with lousy employees.

 

"I... was meeting a Paleolithic fox deity and lost track of time." Stiles tried weakly.

 

"Alright, that's all you had to say."

 

"Wait, what?" Stiles's head perked up and he asked almost horrified, "You  _believe_  me?"

 

"Not a chance in hell," his manager replied. "But I appreciate the creativity. Write it down. Sell millions for all I care. Somebody else might buy that shit, but it isn't me."

 

The manager turned on her heels and marched into her office. “Since you were late I get to pick the music,” She shouted before closing the door. For the rest of the evening Stiles had the “pleasure” of listening to 70s rock music with the occasional Joan Baez.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The bell to the door rang while Stiles was in the back sweeping up.

 

“Coming!” Stiles shouted.

 

“It’s just me,” Scott called back.

 

Stiles finished up as quickly as he could and went out to meet his Alpha (technically) and friend. Scott filled him in on the latest word from Beacon Hills. According to Chris Argent the situation hadn’t improved. Beacon Hills was all but condemned and its citizens scattered to the winds. It would be a long time before anyone would feel compelled to rebuild.

 

“He called the instability something,” Scott said. “A minus wave.”

 

“Something like this has happened before?”

 

Scott nodded. “An unholy fusion of science and magic causes a disturbance. It affects omegas, lone witches, and such and makes them go crazy. But as long as we keep our distance the pack should be okay.”

 

“But are you okay with that? All that running?”

 

Scott pressed his lips together determinedly. “We can’t afford to lose anymore pack members.”

 

“And we’re too weak to claim a new territory.” Stiles pointed out.

 

 Scott tensed and the conversation stalled as Stiles’s manager walked in. She looked half asleep and just waved at the two teenagers to scram with a mumbled sentence as she closed up shop. Scott drove himself and Stiles back to the motel.

 

“Hey guy!” Erica called the moment they stepped out of the car. She jumped down from the motel’s second story to give Stiles a bone crushing hug.

 

“Erica,” Scott reprimanded for her display of wolfiness in public.

 

“Derek and Isaac are making rounds,” Erica told him. The desert land wasn’t fertile enough to be wanted by a rival pack, but Scott wasn’t taking any chances. He nodded in acknowledgement of her report before joining the group hug.

 

“Oy! Fragile human here!” Stiles squeaked. They chuckled before releasing him.

 

Erica waved them goodnight before returning to the room she shared with Ms. McCall and Lydia.

 

Both Derek and Erica had the cold blue eyes of killers. Boyd had died at the hands of alphas. Derek, before his death and revival, had given up his alpha powers to save his sister, Cora. Cora had been accepted into the pack of a distant relative and hadn’t been told of the miraculous return of her brother, but she knew better than to seek revenge on their uncle, Peter, for taking advantage of Derek..  

 

Isaac mourned the loss of Allison Argent almost if not more deeply than Scott had. He accepted Scott’s leadership readily and was on better terms with Derek now that they were both betas. Without the weight of responsibility that came with being an alpha, Derek was able to slip into a more natural role as everyone’s big brother in the pack.

 

The humans and banshee were also included as pack. Ms. McCall acted as the pack’s medic and surrogate mother. Mr. Stilinski provided a subtle comfort and helped keep the young pack in line and emotionally stable.

 

Lydia was the brains of the operation and had come along to help the pack because of her banshee status. She was worried the decision would affect her family, but with the pack Lydia thought she could do some good. Stiles suspected that part of the reason was because it was hard to have a normal life when you were tuned into the supernatural radio.

 

Between Lydia and Stiles all the logistics of the pack were taken care of. Jobs were secured in every town they stopped in and the pack lived the absolute most comfortable life a group of nomads could. Money was tight, but if needed the werewolves could hunt their own meals. Stiles hesitated to inquire about anyone else they knew from Beacon Hills.

 

While Scott was in the shower Stiles heard Derek and Isaac get back in from patrol. The former sheriff and Derek worked part-time at the local factory as security. They planned to wrap up their stay in the desert town and move on in the next place in the next two weeks.

 

Everyone trusted Scott completely. Stiles had always thought Scott had sort of a puppy look, now he was grown. Stiles hadn’t changed at all. It freaked the human out how different they all were and how alone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was late afternoon when the doorbell to the store rang. A man in his 50s and a soldier’s uniform walked in. Stiles blinked and stared at the man’s uniform. There was something off about it. It was too formal for travel wear and probably not even from the current decade. Stiles figured the man was a historical reenactor. He leaned over the counter to try to get a look at the soldier’s ride hoping it was also a classic.

 

“Can I help you?” Stiles asked from where he’s standing behind the counter. The man looked up at him as if surprised he was being addressed.

 

“Perhaps,” the old man said. With a slight accent he asked hesitantly, “Water?”

 

“You mean out of a bottle?” Stiles tried to clarify. “It’s 1.89.”

 

“Ah, well I-“

 

Stiles’s manager interrupted with, “I got it Stiles.”

 

The manager drifted out of the office with a guitar case in hand. After removing the instrument she shooed Stiles out of the way and hoisted herself on to the counter.

 

“Ms. Abmyrddin,” the soldier greeted. “Your usual?”

 

The manager nodded. She took a moment to make sure the instrument was in tune. Once satisfied it would play well she counted slowly, “1…2…3…4 and 1…2…3…4,” and plucked with tender fingers the instrument whose notes just as easily plucked Stiles’s heart strings. After the first few bars the soldier joined in whistling with clarity reserved for glass.

 

Stiles pulled out his phone so Google could identify the tune. “Under Paris Skies,” it said.

 

The duo played like it was a song reserved for lovers, sweethearts strolling down the sidewalk on a sunny day oblivious to the to the possibility of darker skies. The city Paris looked on as pairs of lovers moved together hand in hand eyes only on each other. The whistled notes pleaded for the world to light up in yellows and blues and for the birds to sing out the good news. Love was the simplest thing in the world, how could there be any room for hate? For a moment Stiles could believe there was a warmth in his chest and he too was in love, but as a mere two minutes had passed all too soon the song died away.

 

Stiles was released from his dreamlike state and shivered as the harsh gaze of reality rolled over him.

 

“What was that?” Stiles asked breaking the silence.

 

“I am a merchant of many things,” the man said with a tip of his hat. “For a fair price.”

 

“Like water for a song?” Stiles asked.

 

“And a story for a story.” The man winked as the manager turned her back to put the guitar away and retrieve the bottle. He gazed at Stiles pointedly. “I bet your manager is filled with lots of good stories.”

 

“Why do you say that?”

 

“Mr. Kyrië is aware of my once aspirations to be a college professor,” Stiles’s manager said shorty as she passed the older man the water bottle.

 

“Oh, what happened?” Stiles asked.

 

The manager gave him an offended glare, “I actually  _like_  being my own boss, thank you.” She practically shoved the old man towards the door and swept her hair over to one shoulder.

 

“What did you study?” Stiles felt a pulse of excitement like the beginning of a storm.

 

“Fairytales, folklore, children’s stories,” She said dismissively.

 

“We could give the young man a demonstration of the wonders of your story telling,” the soldier suggested and received a glare for his good will. The soldier nodded in Stiles direction. “It would pay for his token.”

 

The manager ground her teeth. “Point,” she replied. “Do you have another instrument? And one for the boy?”

 

“Whoa, slow down there, boss.” Stiles held up his hands in protest. “My musical skills are limited by my lack of attention span.”

 

“You can clap, can’t you?”

 

“uh, yes?”

 

“Then you can play a tambourine.” She motioned for the soldier to retrieve the goods.

 

Stiles looked over at the woman in puzzlement. “What’s a token?”

 

“It’s an old, very old form of trade.” She explained. “It’s like an IOU. You heard the song so you owe part of a song. That along with the water is considered a fair trade.”

 

The soldier walked in with a squeeze box and a tambourine. He passed the tambourine off to the woman first so she could show Stiles the rhythm. “It’s only on the chorus,” she told him. The soldier gave the squeeze box a test and looked at the manager.

 

“ _Song of the Pious Itinerant_?” he asked with an amused look. “I don’t know if that’s an insult or a complement.”

 

“We’ll see,” the manager said before counting them off.

 

They opened the song together with several hallelujahs befitting a church choir before dropping into the playful rhythm of the first chorus-

 

“ _Hallelujah I’m a bum, hallelujah bum again  
Hallelujah give me a hand-out and you’ll be my friend”_

(Then the soldier took the first verse)

“ _I woke up one morning, feeling just fine-_  
_Caught me a ride on the Santa Fe Line._  
It starts getting wearing riding the rail,  
_Now I got room and board in the Albuque’ Jail”_

(They skipped the chorus and the manager jumped on the next verse.)

 

“ _Why don’t you settle down and get you a wife?_

The soldier interrupted singing:

“ _I’d rather be a bum for the rest of my life.”_

The manager glared at him for the interruption, but continued singing smoothly:

_“You’ll never get rich just bumming around-“_

_“You’ll never get happy working unfound’.”_

“ _Hallelujah I’m a bum, hallelujah bum again  
Hallelujah give me a hand-out and you’ll be my friend”_

_“Well now I went to college, but it didn’t work out.”_

_“The things that I like they don’t teach you about.”_

_“So you’ll just live in a box car filled with old cats-“_

_“’Least I don’t have to worry about toe-nibbling rats.”_

(Stiles smothered a laugh as they jumped to the chorus again.)

 

_“Now why don’t you work like some other men do?”_

_“I’d rather just sing, if it’s alright with you!_

_Well If I had my way I’d just travel about,_

_And sing for my supper when I’m down and out.”_

_“You might get to heaven, but don’t hold your breath.  
We’ve all heard you sing and you may starve to death!”_

“ _Hallelujah I’m a bum, hallelujah bum again  
Hallelujah give me a hand-out!”_

“That was… unexpected.” Stiles said after a moment.

 

“Stories are like zipfiles.” The manager said stiffly as she shifted back into work-mode. “They compress valuable information into a transferable format. However, they can only be truly understood in their original cultural context.”

 

The soldier interrupted. “You’re just covering up that you had fun and you miss the carefree life of drifter. Speaking of…“ The soldier reached into his pocket and pulled out a small moleskin journal. On the cover was a grouping of letters that gave Stiles’s name a run for its money on pronunciation.  The manager shoved the soldier out the door since their transaction had been completed.

 

Stiles walked around the counter and stared at the journal. “What’s Ab-my-eerd-den mean?”

 

“Abmyrddin,” she corrected pronouncing it more like  _Ab-mer-then_. “It’s my last name. It doesn’t mean anything.”

 

“Smith comes from ‘blacksmith’. Jones means ‘son of John’.”  Stiles pointed out. He pulled out his phone. He had two clues, Welsh (since his manager was Welsh, ‘obviously’) and surname. “The Welsh ‘Ab’ is like the Scottish ‘Mac’, so  _son of Myrddin_?”

 

“Rumored distant ancestor,” she conceded.

 

“But you don’t believe that,” Stiles pressed.

 

“No, because in English his name is pronounced ‘ _Merlin’_.”

 

“Oh, well- um, okay.” Stiles stumbled backwards in shock. “Is that good or bad? Because I could really use a break here on the bad news and I’m friends with werewolves.”

 

She frowned and raised and raised an eyebrow, “And I just had a music jam with  _Kabouterkoning Kyrië_ , the Gnome king. Although I’m not a mage myself, I’m well acquainted with a few who claim to be of the fae.” The manager moved in an arch around the teenager staring at him curiously, “Werewolves, you say? What do you instincts tell you I am?”

 

“Uh, you are the nicest person on the planet?” Stiles lied.

 

“Merlin had a thing for young virgins and I am not his only  _alleged_  descendent.” She told him. “Knowledge is a very powerful thing and it does not come free.”

 

Stiles took a couple deep breaths. “Okay, okay, um, fair trade… rule of three? Three questions about anything and you have to answer honestly. What will that cost me?”

 

“Three days.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Two hours later Stiles found himself stumbling along a cave. Both he and Ms. Abmyrddin held small flashlights during the trek, but there was a point or two where the travelers had to hold the flashlights in their mouths so they could use both hands.

 

“Sixty foot drop,” she warned Stiles as they straddled a crevasse. “I almost dropped my cell phone down there once.”

 

“Where are we?”

 

“You’re seriously going to waste your first question on that?” She asked.

 

“No,” Stiles replied irritably. “But I would like to be reassured that you’re not leading me somewhere to kill me.”

 

“You’re favored by an Ancestral God,” she pointed out having heard his explanation. She maintained a healthy sense of skepticism, but conceded that if Stiles believed it to be true then what she believed didn’t matter. “Killing you would be pointless. They would just bring you back.”

 

“So then you know.” Stiles did his best not to look down and notice that the gap below them was getting wider. “Why’d they pick me? I’m not even from here!”

 

“I don’t  _know_ , but I can guess.  I would say it’s because you’re not a soldier, a shifter, an emissary or fairy,” Ms. Abmyrddin replied. “You’re completely human.”

 

“Completely helpless you mean.”

 

“The thing about humans is they are the most adaptable of creatures.” She said. “They have few instincts to draw on besides emotions. The heart is humanity’s greatest weakness and its greatest strength.”

 

Stiles gasped as his foot slipped a little. He watched as the woman shined her light forward before leaping from one bolder to another. “Oh, god.”

 

“Courage, man!” Ms. Abmyddin said positively. “It’s in the blood of all the greats. That’s why my ancestor chose a man from the house of Artorius to bear the shield.”

 

“House of Artorius…” Stiles muttered as he crawled over the bolder shakily. “Wait, as in your  _alleged_  ancestor Merlin?”

 

Sensing that a story would help distract the young man from his fears the woman explained: After the fall of the Roman Empire, their colonies in the British Isles were under threat from Germanic invaders. A son of the house of Artorius, distant relative of the famed Cleopatra, was given a magical item to lead the defense of the cities.

 

“Most people tend to overlook the fact that  _it didn’t end well_.” She said with emphasis. “The Islands were still invaded and now we all speak English, a Germanic language, instead of Welsh. We’re here.”

 

‘Here’ turned out to be a bowl shaped crevice with a slender waterfall running through it. The woman carefully climbed down into the bowl and stepped over and around to avoid the water. She cupped out her hands to take a drink. Stiles did the same. Once their thirst had been relieved the woman shined her light on the only thing in the cavern that wasn’t water or stone.

 

“I thought it was the sword in the stone.” Stiles said looking at the tall black staff dubiously.

 

The woman approached the staff which was wedged between two boulders so it would stand up vertically. She said, “Technically any item used in defense can be called a shield.”

 

The woman reached out a hand and grasped the staff. It was about two and a half inches wide. “My ancestors called them shields, but certain poets decided later on that wasn’t flashy enough.”

 

She pulled the staff free and tossed it to Stiles who fumbled the catch. He managed to smack himself in the face and drop his flashlight into the water.

 

“I thought I was supposed to do that,” he grumbled. Stiles picked the flashlight back up, but failed to turn it on.

 

“Magical item, batteries not included, but you have the spark I don’t have.” Ms. Abmyrddin told him. “Have fun figuring out how it works. I’ll be back in 24 hours with food.”

 

“…WHAT?!”

 

Ms. Abmyrddin turned off her own flashlight and the cavern plunged into darkness.

 

“One day for each question,” she reminded. Stiles swung the staff around trying to find her. The cave made her voice bounce and he couldn’t tell where she was standing, walking, running or climbing. It sounded like she was already making her way up the cavern wall. The sound of tiny pebbles falling echoed all around.

 

Her voice sounded further away as she said, “Don’t bother trying to crawl out. You’ll only get yourself lost.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Derek arrived at Scott's request and frowned at the sight of what had been the convenience store. What was left were smoldering wrecks of melted plastic and twisted metal. They could smell the culprit, a male with something odd about him that they can’t identify. The crime was committed in anger and Stiles was nowhere to be seen.

 

“No bodies,” Scott pointed out.

 

“No human smells either.” Derek took a deep breath. “Except…”

 

 

* * *

 

It took several laps around the cavern for Stiles to wear himself out to the point that he sat down. His shoes and socks were soaked along with the bottom of his pants from splashing about. The staff made a terrible sight-stick.

 

“Well, this is boring,” He said. “Looks like it’s just you and me…stick. Sticky? No… that doesn’t sound right. Do you even have a name? Black Stix? Black Beauty? Any chance you could do something? Light up? Show me the way out? Magically hook up an Xbox? Cuz I have to say this really sucks.”

 

Naturally the staff may no attempt at reply.

 

The cave was warm enough that Stiles wasn’t worried about hypothermia. He remembered the rough shape of the cavern, but had no idea how to get out of the cave. He could feel the staff in his hands, smooth like it had been polished and strong. It wasn’t cold like the stones, but it wasn’t warm either. Having something solid in his grip helped keep down the panic. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I see you haven’t made much progress,” Ms Abmyrddin noted. A bag of fast food smacked Stiles in the face the contents of which Stiles devoured almost too quickly. It was still dark and Stiles wondered how the woman could see. “It’s time for your second question.”

 

“Second?” Stiles repeated horrified. “You didn’t answer my first question! Because I’m human? There are other humans in the world! They didn’t have to loan one from an alternate universe.”

 

“And how many humans are best friends with a True Alpha?”

 

“Scott isn’t…” Stiles sighed. “I mean we’re friends, but I could never replace the Stiles he lost! I’m not him!”

 

“I think the only one expecting you to be is  _you_ ,” Ms Abmyrddin told him. “Next question.”

 

“Why are you helping me?”

 

“For my own nefarious purposes, of course.” She explained. “There is a new breed of demon, one born of the human race. These demons covertly work to cause discord, striving to set into motion the events that will cause a great war which will eliminate most of humanity, probably. By helping you accomplish your goal, you will inevitably help to accomplish mine.”

 

“Beacon Hills is related to these demons, then.”

 

“They will use the chaos to their advantage which will without a doubt increase their numbers. For every Knight made, so are twelve demons.”

 

“Not going to end well?”

 

“Enjoy the next 24 hours.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Can’t you get a read on him?” Scott hissed.

 

Lydia glared at him. “Water. I hear the sound of running water and yes! That is all I can get!”

 

“He’ll be fine,” Isaac insisted. “It doesn’t get…that cold…in the desert… at night.”

 

“Without humidity acting like a thermal blanket it gets very cold and Stiles is only human!” Lydia snapped.

 

“Come on guys, he’s still Stiles.” Scott assured them. “He’s human, but he’s tough.”

 

“But he’s not our Stiles.” Erica pointed out. “Our Stiles would have come up with a plan by now.”

 

“Yeah, well he’s the only Stiles we’ve got.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Okay, how do I use human magic?” Stiles asked.

 

“You want me to automatically endow you with thousands of years of great knowledge that take decades to learn and none can truly claim mastery?”

 

“In ten minutes or less would be great.” Stiles added feeling slightly delirious from sleep deprivation.

 

The woman sighed, but answered. “Homo sapien means ‘wise man’,” she said. “I’m sure you’ve gathered that is not altogether accurate. Other names have been proposed. Homo domesticus, Homo faber, and Homo amans among others are also not truly suitable in my opinion.”

 

“But you think there is one that is suitable.”

 

“Homo narrans. The storyteller. Above all things we are made of and makers of stories. The barest, purest essence of a story is not good vs. evil or man vs. X, but that something changes. Be it ‘I walked through the door’ or Homer’s Odyssey, that which was is makes way for that which has become.” She waved a hand. “Magic is a catalyst to change. The bringing of light, the calming of a storm, the making of fire, shielding loved ones from danger-- You don’t need fancy runes, magic incantations, or dusty books. Those are just tools that aid in the storytelling.”

 

“There’s no way it’s that easy.”

 

“Storytelling isn’t easy at all,” she replied affronted. “But it is something that comes naturally. The problem is you’re expecting to spew an epic right out of the gate when you should be whistling ‘My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean’.”

 

“You said three days for three honest answers,” Stiles huffed. “I don’t think you’ve told the truth yet.”

 

“I answered honestly. You were selected because you were human with high potential. I’m helping you as a means to my own ends. Magic at its root is a means of change.”

 

“Okay, that does sound truthful. Can I ask you one more thing?”

 

“Did no one warn you about the price for a fourth wish?”

 

“…Um, I’ll take my chances?”

 

“Very well, ask.” she ordered.

 

“If I’m not supposed to be a witch like other me, what am I?”

 

“You’re just like us, Stiles, a trickster.” The woman replied smiling.

 

“Christ, are you guys holding a convention or something?”

 

“You know the funny thing about tricksters,” the woman purred while examining her fingernails. “We just can’t resist a good joke.”

 

Stiles heart skipped a terrified beat. “This has to do with the fourth wish thing, doesn’t it?”

 

“In fairy law, if you make a fourth wish it negates all your previous wishes.” She told him. “Since you have knowledge, I can’t take that away from you. However, I do recall mentioning I wasn’t going to  _kill_  you. I don’t recall saying I was going to  _lead you out_.”

 

“Hey! Wait a minute!”

 

“Consider this you initiation.” The woman stood up and Stiles made a mad dash towards her while the still had the flashlight. “If you live, then welcome to the club.”

 

“I wouldn’t join any club that would accept me as a member!” Stiles groaned as he slipped on the wet stones. The light of the woman’s flashlight was getting further and further away. Stiles shouted after her, “I’m too classy for that! Hey! Get your ass back here!”

 

* * *

 

 

Ms. Abmyrddin held no unreasonable expectations about surviving to see sunrise. She had hoped to see the stars one more time, though. The real ones, not the ones that danced around her head as the result of a head injury. She coughed as the hand around her throat lessened giving her a chance to speak.

 

“My matriarch had a favorite son doomed to squander his life.” She said, “All others were second fiddle.”

 

“Stow your stories,” The demon ordered. “The only thing I’m interested in is the black staff.”

 

“I can’t tell what’s more amusing—“ she flinched as claws dug into her neck. “That you think I have it or that I would even consider giving it to you.”

 

“Lying will not save you.”

 

“Easy _, little brother_ ,” she soothed with distain marring the last two words. “I haven’t gotten to the punch line. Yes, I have  _a_  black staff, but I don’t have  _the_  black staff. I had a forgery crafted in exchange for giving the staff to which it belonged. I’m too crooked to serve the  **Word**  as a knight, but I can still cosplay on weekends.”

 

“Liar!” the demon hissed.

 

“Mom isn’t the only one with favorites.” She forced herself form the demon’s grasp and backed up against a rock face. “Oh, yes, we were practically made to become demons, something about being empty inside and slightly sociopathic, but I refuse to play in the same sandbox as you.”

 

Demon didn’t even dignify that with a reply and struck out a fatal blow. From out of nowhere a bolt of power caught the demon from behind.

 

Stiles blinked as his eyes adjusted to the twilight. “Dude! You can’t just kill her. That bitch has some major explaining to do!” He said and slumped against the staff which was glowing with green runes.

 

“So much for being a fake staff.” The demon growled.

 

“Oh, the staff may be fake, but I’m not.” Stiles shot another blast and the area light up.

 

Sensing he had lost control of the situation the demon took off, but Stiles could already hear the sound of wolves in the distance. He knelt beside the fallen woman. She was still breathing at least.

 

“You’re the worst Yoda ever, you know that?”

 

The woman’s laugh broke off into a cough. “Trickster.” She said. “But seeing as my heir is a demon, you’ll have to do.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a set of keys. She removed a ruby whistle and a thumbdrive to give to Stiles. “Traditionally, the master would provide the student with the original texts and allow them to draw their own conclusions. I’ll respect the urgency of your cause so you’ll have to make do with my notes.”

 

“ Why?!”

 

“I’m too broken to be on the side of the angels.” She said. “But if I help you freely, does that make me a demon?” She sighed. “Keep the change.”

 

Before Stiles could point out that being trapped in a cave for three days was hardly a fair trade, Scott shouted his name. Stiles turned and saw the Alpha wolf barreling over rocks and boulders.

 

“Scott!” He turned back to the woman. “My friend’s a vet tech, but—“

 

Stiles stopped talking when he realized the woman was already dead.

 

 

* * *

 

Stiles could practically feel the angst rolling off Derek in waves. He wondered time and again why he agreed to ride with the sourwolf during their convoy, butthe long drives between towns gave Derek too much time to think. It was his fault Kate killed is family. It was his fault he let Laura return to Beacon Hills alone. It was his fault he sucked at being an Alpha. It was his fault Gerard targeted Beacon Hills. It might have (on a teeny tiny slim chance) been his fault the other Stiles died. It definitely wasn’t his fault the current Stiles nearly died in a cave and accidently discovered the existence of demons.

 

Stiles knew life sucked, plain and simple so Stiles kept the staff close to him at all times. It felt warm under his hands even though the runes had stopped glowing.

 

Stiles sighed and said, “I know there is nothing that I can say to make you feel better about anything,” which made Derek only clutch the steering wheel tighter. “But I’m going to try anyway.” He took a deep breath. “Somebody, somewhere, thought you deserved a second chance. If you believe in nothing else, at least believe in that.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye Stiles saw a healing burn mark were the demon had gotten Derek before it escaped. Stiles reached over and poked the burn making Derek jump. Red veins spider webbed up Stiles finger and wrist and a wave of foreign yet familiar emotions moved through him.

 

Stiles winced and hissed, “Oh, ow, man, do you have issues.”

 

Derek watched the veins fade with a stunned look. “How? How did you do that?”

  
“I don’t know, I just did.” Stiles looked at his hands. “I mean I see you guys do it all the time and I just-“

 

A chipper voice from behind them spoke up to interrupt with, “I remember when penetrative sex was invented.”

 

Derek nearly swerved off the road and Stiles gasped, “Oh, god,” before turning around to glare at the fox god(ess?).

 

“You know me and the other old timers didn’t get it,” the deity continued. “I mean the way it used to be, if you wanted a kid you just got all the parts and you threw them together like baking a cake. I thought it was just a fad, you know? All the kids trying out the new thing and having no idea how to do it. All that moving against each other, talk about  _awkward_.

 

“I can imagine.” Stiles agreed feeling extremely awkward about the random conversation. “Is there some hidden meaning to this conversation?”

 

“Oh, no.” The fox smirked. “There’s going to be some radio silence on our end for a while. We’ve done all we’re allowed to do, so I just wanted to give you guys a memorable send of. Promise not to forget me?”

 

“I don’t think we could if we tried.” Derek grumbled.

 

“Good to hear.” The fox said. It turned to Stiles. “Congrats on surviving an encounter with a demon of the Void. Try not to make it a habit. Those guys are nasty.”

 

“What’s all this word and void junk?” Stiles asked.

 

The fox shrugged. “It’s a human thing. Sometimes the fae will get involved, but it’s not my thing.” Changing the subject the fox said, “I know Scott’s already paid up for the meat suits. Derek’s pretty much my bitch whether he likes it or not. So, what did your god want?”

 

“I don’t know.” Stiles admitted.

 

“Oh, an installment plan.” The fox nodded. “Good choice.”

 

“You’re saying I can’t run away from this.”

 

“Are you saying you would?” the fox asked with a raised eyebrow and Stiles noticed a resemblance.

 

“Still on the fence,” Stiles admitted. By that time Derek had pulled into their destination, a burger joint where they would be meeting the rest of the pack.

 

“Well it is your choice,” the fox agreed. “In the end we gods can only guide you.” The fox slapped them on the back. “Good luck boys! Enjoy your food. This place has the best burgers in the whole state of Nevada.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“So no more awkward god encounters?” Scott asked when they had stopped for lunch.

 

“Sounds like it,” Stiles replied. “This whole mess is more complicated than I’m willing to invest brain power for right now.”

 

“OMG, these are the best burgers I’ve ever had in my life!” Erica moaned obscenely before taking another bite. The rest of the pack agreed and the table was silent except for a few appreciative moans.

 

Stiles eyes widened, “These pickles taste like magic.”

 

“I know, right?” Scott grinned and didn’t bother to wipe off the slap of ketchup off his cheek. Then he caught the look on his friend’s face as Stiles put his burger down. “…Stiles?”

  
“No,” Stiles said quietly as the pack all turned to look at him “I mean, they  _literately_  taste like magic.”


	2. An Unwilling Bride

 

Naturally the werewolves sensed it first. The smell of pure earth permeated the air. Garden soil usually had a bit of a tang to it from fertilizer additives. Even regular dirt had a human taint to it because humans were everywhere. The new smell was free of the scent of mulch, clay, or even natural fertilizer. The smell made Scott’s wolf want to flop on his back and roll around in it. He told Stiles and Lydia as much.

 

"This is amazing," Scott said as he took another sniff. Everything was so pure, the soil, the sand, the stones. The only exception seemed to be the air drifting in from the mountain town, but that couldn't be helped.

 

"What are you doing here?" a female voice demanded.

 

The lot’s occupant stood on a pathway of river stones cradling a tortoiseshell cat in her arms. She was shorter than most of the pack members with thick brown hair spiraling over her shoulders and down her back. Her clothing consisted of two colorful, silk cloths that were tied with sashes instead of sewn into a dress. Her tanned shoulders were uncovered, but the rest of her curvy form down to her bare feet was concealed by the garment.

 

It was warm for a March day in the mountains, but not as hot as the pack’s last stopping place. They were back in California, but had stayed in the mountains near human settlements to avoid conflict with other packs. The closer they got to Beacon Hills the stronger they could sense pulse of the minus wave.

 

"This might sound weird," Scott said taking the lead. "But do you sell pickles to a burger joint a few miles East of here?"

 

"Probably," the woman said in a voice that sounded surprisingly young. She set the cat down and instantly the creature reacted to the presence of the werewolf. It hissed and bolted. Taking a cue from her pet, the woman stepped back. "What do you want?"

 

"Can we see how you grow them?" Scott asked politely. "It's for a college report on eco-friendly practices."

 

"You're lying."

 

"Yeah, not his strong suit," Stiles agreed and stepped forward. His precious staff was in the car and he felt almost naked without it, but the scouting party did its best to look nonthreatening. "So, hey, I'm a priest in training, and I was wondering if you had any thoughts or tips?"

 

"What sort of priest?" she asked.

 

"Not sure, my teacher died before she could tell me." Stiles shrugged.

 

Apparently this was enough for the young woman to decide they were harmless enough and she led them to her green house. Inside was the source of the relaxing earth smell. The green house was larger than the woman’s own house and held cucumbers in various states of growth. Towards the back was a dark room filled with pickling supplies.

 

“Who helps you with all this?” Lydia asked as she studied the crop.

 

“A yakṣī.” The woman said.

 

“A fairy?” Stiles turned to look at her to assess the truth of her word.

 

“A nature spirit entertains itself with my garden.” The woman said. “Who am I to argue?”

 

‘Fairies,’ Scott mouthed in disbelief and Stiles mouthed back, ‘Werewolf’.

 

When the three members returned to the rest of the pack they were met with doubt about the next course of action. They had no way of knowing the nature of the supernatural creature that tended the garden. Scott insisted that the pure nature of the soil and the quality of the product suggested the creature was of good nature.

 

 Lydia argued that a fairy’s nature was often tied to their location and removing or disturbing the fairy could cause it to look upon the pack in spite. Stiles and Derek agreed that no matter what they needed more allies if they were going to take back Beacon Hills, but they disagreed on whether or not the fairy would be worthy a ally. Derek argued that because Lydia was mostly human she could be trusted, but a strange fairy could not. Stiles argued it was worth a shot.

 

After a vote it was decided that there was no harm staying in the town a little longer to see if the fairy was friend or foe. Stiles got to work finding ways to trap a fairy that wouldn’t end with soured milk for the next ten years. A short stay in a ring of mountain ash and iron dust shouldn’t make the fairy too irritable, right?

 

* * *

 

 

“Why should I care about your world?” the fairy asked tersely. On the bright side the creature wasn’t hopping mad at being trapped. The fairy was about the size of a seven year old child and looked like it still had some baby fat to her form. At the same time, like most fairies, the creature looked both young and timeless and had a wicked glint in her eye.

 

“Because all worlds are connected,” Scott advised quoting their protective gods.

 

The fairy looked at him coldly. “Your world has no healers that would treat me, you don’t sing my songs, and I have no blood ties or oaths to maintain here.”

 

“Then why are you here now?” Lydia challenged. “You can’t be that fond of this garden.”

 

“Gods, no,” the fairy rolled her eyes. “I hate cucumbers.”

 

“So?”

 

“It’s because in my world there are no healers that would treat me, no one shares in my songs, and I have no blood ties or oaths to maintain there.” The fairy smirked.

 

“What court are you?” Lydia asked.

 

“In your words, Unseely,” the fairy replied casually. “But I have yet to meet human or fae of true good character. Clearly there is something amiss with my being if I only see the worst in people. So, release me and scuttle off now.” The fairy pointed at Stiles. “However, I will accept your ruby whistle as compensation for the slight of trapping me.”

 

“Why?” Stiles asked cautiously. This time he had brought the black staff with him and hanging off his belt was the ruby whistle he had inherited from Miss Abmyrddin.

 

“My favorite story is ‘Death and the Soldier’,” the fairy replied. “The soldier received a ruby whistle from one of the beggars. If you can’t play it, the whistle has no value to you.”

 

The pack members exchanged looks.

 

“We’ll need more than your word,” Lydia said.

 

The fairy rolled her eyes. “The perfect number is three,” the fairy said. “Three by three by three by three is a magic number. So, the whistle?” the fairy prompted.

 

“Is worth more than you are letting on,” Lydia stated.

 

The fairy huffed. “It’s ill-advised to cross me.”

 

“I’m terrified,” Lydia and Derek said drily in sync before Scott and Stiles could cover their comrade’s intrepid mouths.

 

Stiles resisted doing a face palm. The fairy turned bright red for a moment and they could feel the blood lust rolling off the tiny form in waves. After probably counting backwards from ten the fairy schooled her expression and then looked at each of the pack members in turn with an amused glint in her eye. Stiles swallowed and pondered how difficult it would be to convince Scott to just throw the wicked thing in an iron box with a sign saying “Don’t open until X-mas 2101”.

 

“Release me.” The fairy ordered. “And give me the whistle. Only then will I forgive your slight.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Stiles soothed. “If I let you go, do you promise not to hurt my friends?”

 

The fairy held up her hands peacefully. “I swear I shall not harm a single hair-“

 

“Dude, I saw the Peter Pan sequel.” Stiles warned. 

 

The fairy raised and eyebrow. “Technically pulling a hair out by its roots IS hurting it. That’s a horrid trick. Distasteful even. Good thing _I’m_ not a villain.”

 

Stiles gave the fairy a look and the fairy sighed, “I swear that I, me, myself, or any incarnations there of, shall not physically or mentally harm you or your companions present and future, now or ever. After this parting you won’t here from me again.”

 

“I want that in writing,” Lydia said.

 

“Blood?” the fairy asked pleasantly.

 

“Never mind,” Stiles said. He pulled the whistle off his belt and broke the barrier to release the fairy.

 

The fairy made grabby hands and snatched the whistle out of Stiles’s hand. She cradled the object joyously. Her eyes sparkled and she asked, “Would you like to hear it?”

 

Every bone in Stiles’s body told him that was a terrible idea, but the telepathy didn’t transfer to Scott in time so the alpha said, “Sure.”

 

The fairy nodded and opened her mouth wide. Instead of placing the whistle gently to her lips like Stiles had tried, she swallowed the whistle whole. She looked stunned as it caught in her throat and coughed a bit. Then, like magic, from her lips flew the most beautiful tune the pack had ever heard. The magic filled the greenhouse with tiny blue sparkles. It rang like church bells… and then turned abruptly sour.

 

In a blink every plant in the greenhouse soured and rotted. A blast of power shot through each of the pack members making them shiver. It didn’t hurt and as promised the fairy hadn’t harmed them. Still, Stiles wondered what kind of curse, obviously a curse, the fairy had cast on them.

 

* * *

 

“Trouble magnet?” his dad asked. “How is that any different from normal?”

 

Stiles groaned. He had been perusing Abmyrddin’s notes for any clues about what the fairy might have done. He hadn’t liked the conclusion he had come to. He was staring at the notes on Odysseus and sincerely hoped it wouldn’t take the pack ten years to make it back to Beacon Hills.

 

“Is there a way to break the curse?” Derek drawled. The three of them were holding down the hotel room while the rest of the pack was on a supply run. They hadn’t changed towns yet out of caution.

 

“81 trials,” Stiles muttered.

 

“What?”

 

Stiles glanced up at the sour looking werewolf. “There’s sort of a catch all blessing,” the human told them. “The rule of three. Numbers divisible by 3 and 9 are considered the most fortunate. If the curse is a trouble magnet Odyssey style, it’ll only be effective for 81 trials or tests of character.”

 

“But in the Odyssey, only one survived.” Derek pointed out.

 

“Ah, but only one guy pissed off Poseidon. The rest were collateral damage.” Stiles shrugged. “Because we were all cursed at the same time, it sounds like it was a pack curse. So as long as the pack completes 81 trials, the curse should lift.”

 

“What kind of trials?” his dad asked.

 

* * *

 

 

Several days later a late spring snow storm drove the convoy off the main road. They hunkered down on the road side with blankets and their werewolf companions. Stiles remembered to stick their windshield wipers straight up with little red flags of cloth tied to them. It took several hours, but a snowplow crew eventually found them and towed the cars to a small community hidden ten miles from the main road.

 

It was inevitable, but Scott met with the local pack alpha to establish a peaceful visit. The Beacon Hill’s pack humans were not invited to the gathering. Stiles informed Scott that they weren’t likely to find worthy allies among such a closed minded pack.

 

“Derek and I--” Stiles placed a firm hand on the said werewolf’s shoulder which earned the human a look. “--will take a look around. Granted I think Lydia and Derek should tag team as the pack’s recruiters because, I mean, who would say no? But Lydia already turned down the position.”

 

“Then I’m turning it down too.” Derek jerked out of Stiles grip and earned a friendly Rafiki-style tap to the skull. He turned to snarl at Stiles, but the human just poked him in the chest with his black staff.

 

“Hellooooo,” Stiles drew out the syllable and waved a hand to indicate his defenseless looking self. “Squishy human doesn’t look threatening at all. That’s why I need a big scary werewolf body guard. What if I get into trouble? Fairy curse ring any bells? What if I run into a dragon? Who will distract it while I figure out how to make my black stick go boom-boom again?” Said magic trick had unfortunately been a one-time deal thing with the demon. Regardless of its lack of mad wizard properties, Stiles still liked to keep the (oddly) warm wood under his hands as a means of comfort.

 

“If I go with you, will you promise not to talk the whole time?” Derek asked wearily.

 

“Dude, I make no promises of the sort.” Stiles huffed. “Scott, buddy, can I get an alpha ruling on this?”

 

Both turned pleading eyes to Scott and the alpha just shook his head.

 

* * *

 

 

“Dude, I have never seen this many Kung Fu movies in one place.” Stiles said while looking the selection of the mom ‘n pop video rental store. A whole wall was dedicated to the dubbed classics. Stiles picked out a few titles for the pack to bond over later. The weather report predicted another freaky snow storm (damn climate change or global warming or whatever) so they would have to hunker down in the town until it passed.

 

Derek made an indistinguishable noise. He decided to wait patiently by the register while Stiles looked around. Behind the clerk’s head was a picture of a missing girl named Kira Yukimura. Something in the picture caught Derek’s eye.

 

“What’s the story with the girl?” he asked.

 

The clerk shrugged. “Her dad teaches high school and her mom’s away on business. The girl just vanished one day. The dad insists she was kidnapped, but the police didn’t find anything.”

 

“Isn’t it weird that her mom is out of town?” Stiles walked up to the counter with the videos he had selected. Something about the case was making his “cop senses” tingle. “Are they separated?”

 

“No-no,” the clerk shook his head. “They’re in here almost every weekend renting the same old time romance movies and giving each other sappy looks. She’s out in that one shitty town- Beacon something. The one were a whole punch of cops were killed and people disappeared over night? There are a ton of conspiracies about that place. I say aliens.”

 

“Beacon Hills?” Stiles asked shocked. “What would she be doing there?”

 

“I’m not sure what she does for a living,” the clerk said. “I know I wouldn’t want my family within ten miles of that creepy place.”

 

They thanked the clerk and left the shop.

 

“Do you think that’s a coincidence?” Derek asked.

 

“Yeah, actually I do.” Stiles told him. “I don’t think there is a connection, _yet_ , but I have a feeling we should probably stick our noses into this.”

 

“For the trials?”

 

“We need allies Derek.” Stiles stated. “At the very least we need fewer enemies. If this is connected to the minus wave shit, we can’t just ignore it. Plus she looked kinda cute, right?”

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles loved his dad. He loved how being a cop was imbedded in the older Stilinski bones. It was probably that cop mentality that kept the older man sane. The only person stronger on that front as Chris Argent, but he did come from a crazy family and had to have a few screws loose one way or another. It was Allison’s wish that hunters adopt a new code, “To protect those who cannot protect themselves.” Chris’s new code consumed him body and soul in a way revenge could not.

 

Stiles gave the man a mental salute before turning his attention back to his dad’s conversation with Mr. Yukimura. His dad was part comforting and part probing as he whittled the details out of the distraught parent.

 

“Mr. Yukimura,” Stiles interrupted. “Why is your wife in Beacon Hills?”

 

The shift caught the man off guard just as Stiles had hoped, but he could see him instantly become guarded.

 

“It’s a very dangerous time to go there,” Stiles probed earning a reprimanding glare from his dad. “She must be very confident to go there alone. We certainly wouldn’t have with the numbers we have. I wish she would have waited.”

 

Mr. Yukimura looked at them with a light of sudden understanding. “You’re in the know.”

 

“We’re just not as ignorant as some,” Stile’s dad corrected. “Would you mind telling us the story again? And this time tell us what really happened.”

 

* * *

 

 

“We got a hit in the bestiary on our mysterious kidnapper.” Lydia reported when Stiles returned to the lodge the pack was staying at. She showed Stiles a picture of a large monkey that walked like a human and wore armor. “Japanese Kakuen-ape matches the description Mr. Yukimura gave us and they have a kidnapping young girls M.O.”

 

“Can you blame the guy?” Isaac asked as he pointed to Kira’s picture on the wall. “Prettiest girl in town is not an exaggeration.”

 

“Fine, we save the girl and that counts as a trial completed?” Derek asked. “That’s a lot of work and we would still have 80 trials to go.”

 

“We can’t just leave, Derek.” Scott scolded. “If we can help, we should.”

 

“We need to focus on beating Gerard.” Derek countered. “We can’t afford distractions.”

 

“What are you smirking about?” Erica asked looking directly at Stiles. She pointed to the long object wrapped up in linen that the human was hiding behind his back.

 

“I’m a big fan of killing two birds with one stone he said.” Stiles told them. “So, here’s the plan…”

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, Derek, it looks kind of like your house.” Erica quipped as they stared at the rotting specimen before them. The log cabin was three stories high and leaning precariously towards the edge of a cliff. The wolves all turned a dubious gaze towards Stiles who shrugged. Lydia’s and Stiles’s own (minimal)  scurrying skills all pointed to the creepy house on the abandoned property which is the obvious and most convenient secret hideout for a supernatural kidnapper.

 

The wolves shifted into their beta forms and crept towards the house with Stiles and Derek taking up the rear guard. Before they could open the front door (“I told you we should have taken the back door!” Stiles insisted) the entrance swung open for them to reveal a kindly looking old woman.

 

“Hello, children.” The old woman greeted in the sweetest tone they had ever heard. The pack simultaneously relaxed and shivered in fear at the same time. They could see through the woman’s body and into the dark room behind her. “I’m afraid the family isn’t receiving guests this afternoon. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

 

“Listen lady,” Erica growled. “We know you have the girl, so just hand over Kira Yukimura and nobody gets their ass kicked to Hong Kong.”

 

“I’m afraid the family isn’t receiving guests this afternoon. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.” The woman said again.

 

“Didn’t you hear me, grandma? I said-“

 

“The family isn’t receiving guests this afternoon.” The woman’s face shifted from pleasant to ugly and fangy. Her eyes glowed like blue fire. “Come back tomorrow! Naughty children will be punished!”

 

“We might need to revise our plan,” Stiles said. He shoved Erica out of the way and threw mountain ash at the woman. The ghost howled and vanished. “There that wasn’t so bad. Piece of cake.”

 

“Stiles, why would you say that?” Derek whined (in a very manly voice, but it was still a whine in Stiles ears). To be fair the werewolf had a point. The moment they stepped into the house the pack was surrounded by pasty looking dead people on every side.

 

“Try scaring them off!” Stiles suggested. “Give ‘em the old pack roar! Show them you’re not afraid.”

 

Scott shrugged and opened with his biggest, scariest Alpha roar (which was pretty tame by Alpha standards, but oh well). The truly intimidating factor was the response from the betas. Isaac, Erica, and especially Derek answered with a ferocious call of their own. It was effective enough and the ghosts scattered.

 

“See?” Stiles taunted. “I know what I’m doing.”

 

No one made a comment on the elevated tick of the teen’s heartbeat as he said it. Scott raised a hand and shushed him. After a few moments Stiles heard it too. The Doctor Who worthy creepy tick-tick-tick-tick of a clockwork device inching towards them. A monkey doll about three feet tall marched towards the pack members with tiny cymbals and a Chinese style dress code.

 

“Nihao! Nihao!” the doll announced. “Can you solve the puzzle of the ghost house? Fourteen rooms are placed above. Is what you’re looking for there? Stick together or you’ll lose!”

 

“I’m officially creeped out by this place,” Isaac whispered. “Ghosts and talking dolls? What is this? A horror movie?”

 

“Werewolves and a haunted house? Why had nobody thought of this before?” Stiles pondered. The doll fell flat on its face apparently out of momentum until someone felt the need to turn the windup key on its back.

 

The fourteen rooms turned out to be more exciting then they originally sounded. In each room was a complete array of booby traps that would have given any hunter a run for their money. In fact, several of the traps looked like they were made of stolen hunter gear. Flash bombs, tripwires, loaded shotguns, and even a mother-fricken _tiger_. Stiles felt bad for the kitty, but at least Lydia would have a nice new throw rug. Originally the pack had attempted to scout out the rooms in threes to cover more ground, but quickly learned there was safety in numbers. In some cases the teens had to solve a puzzle in one room to find a key to get into the next one.  Stiles would be having nightmares for weeks.

 

Finally, they stumbled into the last room on the third floor which was surprisingly trap free and the doll was there waiting for them.

 

“Congratulations!” it cheered. “You beat the house in record time!”

 

The pack groaned in unison.

 

“How the freak did you beat us here?” Stiles demanded.

 

“I took the service elevator.” The doll replied. “You may collect your commemorative photos on your way out.”

 

“Wait! Where’s the girl?” Scott asked. “We’re here for Kira Yukimura.”

 

“Ooooooh,” the doll said. “You should have said so. She is with my master.”

 

“Where’s that?”

 

“They’re having tea in the kitchen on the first floor.” The doll said and the trap door hidden beneath them opened up.

 

Several curse words were enunciated and bounced off the walls as the pack fell though the floor.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles made a mental note that werewolves did not equal soft landing. There was far too much muscle for that to be comfortable. After a quick assessment of his injuries Stiles concluded that he would be sporting colorful bruises for weeks to come, but was otherwise unharmed. He could hear the werewolves popping their joints back into place. The room was dark except for a few floating fires which did more to up the creepy factor than illuminate the situation. Across the room Stiles saw what appeared to be the outline of a table and two figures sitting quietly in the dark.

 

“Hey!” Scott called.

 

One of the figures stood up startled and shouted, “Look out!”

 

Personally Stiles hated that phrase and wished people would specify ‘look out’ for ‘what’ and more importantly ‘where’, but the pack learned soon enough as another pasty ghost passed through and clipped Scott in the arm. The werewolf hissed as his limb went numb and fell uselessly to the side. The standing figure shouted just a moment too late, “Don’t let them touch you!”

 

“I think we’ve made it to the boss level, guys.” Stiles said as the pack formed a circle.

 

“Yay us,” Erica drawled. “Somebody grab the girl so we can _leave_.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye Stiles saw the second figure stand up. Calmly the figure walked over to the other side of the table and forced the first figure to sit down with a firm hand to the shoulder. The silent order was obeyed and the second figure moved in a ghost-like manner towards the pack. As the figure approached Stiles was able to get a better look at it. The figure was a woman of medium height dressed very much like her ghostly counterparts. The only difference was Stiles could clearly see the woman’s shadow, something the ghosts lacked, and unlike the ghosts the woman had a monkey shaped mask and a sword in her left hand. The woman’s gate was smooth and controlled. As she passed a shelf she reached up and picked up a spice jar. The masked woman tossed the jar into the air in front of her and with a skillful lunge she pierced the jar with her blade coating the sword’s tip with the powder inside.

 

Stiles almost had enough mind to be impressed, but the ‘oh shit’ factor was over whelming him. He counted six ghosts and one head-case with a sword. Those weren’t good odds. The pack scattered as the sword came down in their direction. Stiles could hear the curses and growls of the wolves as the ghosts robbed them of their movement. At a glance Stiles could tell the effect was temporary, but obnoxious.

 

Isaac yelped as the sword caught him in the shoulder. He scrambled backwards and clutched the wound. Scott and Erica moved in front of him as shields while Derek checked the blackening cut.

 

“Wolf’s bane!” the older werewolf warned. The others visibly tensed at the news.

 

“Of course,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “That’s just our luck.”

 

“Stiles,” Derek barked. “Stop talking and check the shelves for an antidote!”

 

“Right, as soon as I get past the deadheads!” Stiles whined.

 

He swung his staff uselessly at the apparitions and scrambled to get around them. Scott and Erica did their best to keep the sword-swinger occupied without getting nicked themselves. A few moments-a-few-years-of-therapy-couldn’t-cure later Stiles managed to make it over to said shelf and scan the contents for any obvious fixers.

 

“They’re labeled in Chinese!!!” Stiles shouted indignantly. It made sense given the theme of their opponents, but was in no way helpful. A hand on his arm made Stiles jump and he looked over into the worried brown eyes of Kira Yukimura. “Oh, hi. Can you read these?”

 

“Some of them.” Kira said. “But I don’t know all the kanji.”

 

“Cool, what’s this?” Stiles held up a jar.

 

She squinted at it and replied, “Onion powder.”

 

“Ugh, we’re not trying to make Kiełbasa!” Stiles threw up his hands. “Wait.” He stopped his tirade before it could begin and reached around his body trying to find the thing that had been carefully tied to it. He hadn’t left the object upstairs so when they fell it must have…

 

Stiles looked around frantically for the package and saw its rough shape just as the masked villain picked it up. The human paled as more ghosts appeared effectively turning their chances of victory to zero. All three werewolves were breathing heavily and slowly bleeding from blackened wounds.

 

The masked figure swayed a little bit and brought her hands two her head. She shook herself and stared at the package in her hand like it was a puzzle. She set her sword on a counter and ripped open the package to expose the katana inside. The masked woman looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Finally her eyes seemed to fall on Kira.

 

Looking at the Japanese girl and then the sword and back the figure seemed to come to a conclusion and tossed the sword in Kira’s direction. The girl caught the blade and looked at it puzzled. Her confusion was cleared up instantly when the masked woman picked up her own blade and pointed it in Kira’s direction.

 

The masked woman spoke for the first time. “My way would be more fun, little girl. We can leave the furries out of it.”

 

“You’re only a few years older than me at most,” Kira countered. Kira drew the sword and set its sheath aside. She made a few test strokes and nearly sliced Stiles in the process.

 

“Sorry!” She said embarrassed.

 

The masked woman chuckled and aimed a strike at Kira’s chest. Kira blocked the strike and the masked woman forced the girl’s sword aside to aim again. Stiles could see that she was purposefully starting out slow and with each strike Kira blocked the woman increased her speed. Eventually the sword strikes became blurred to the human eye and Kira began fighting back.

 

There was a distinctive difference in their styles of sword’s play. Kira was more straightforward. Her moves were predicable to the more experienced masked woman. However, Stiles knew the amazing feats of a katana. Kira only needed to land one hit to incapacitate her enemy. A single strike meant a single kill. The katana was a slicing weapon designed for a single purpose.

 

The masked woman’s blade was sharp at a single point, a piercing blade, intended to hit weak points. She danced with impunity just outside of Kira’s range. The masked woman moved her weapon in circles as her body flowed like water. The blade was an extension of herself like pointing a mocking finger at the teen. Her skill was all in the hand and wrist. The masked woman coiled like a snake before making speedy strikes. The circular pattern not only kept Kira at a distance, it kept the werewolves from interfering in the duel as well. The woman’s dance made it very clear that multiple opponents would not be an issue here.

 

As the match dragged on Kira counted the woman’s blows with her whole body. Inexperience showed in her footwork. The masked woman rolled her body over the katana combining both evasion and counter moves. Kira paused with the katana over her head with the woman’s blade resting at the junction of her collarbone and throat. The woman could kill Kira, but the fall of Kira’s sword would split the woman in half with gravity doing the work. It was a draw.

 

The woman stepped back out of the katana’s range and bowed. Kira did the same before sheathing her sword. Stiles glanced around and saw that the ghosts were gone. The quiet moment was broken by the loud crack and groan of wood breaking. The whole room pitched and the teens yelped in shock.

 

The woman straitened clearly alarmed. “Out the back door!” she shouted and when the pack hesitated she snapped, “That was the formal invitation! Move!”

 

Less than three minutes later the whole cabin slid off the mountainside. Fortunately the pack had made it out safely. When the shock of the close call had cleared the woman approached Kira cautiously.

 

“I owe you an apology, kitsune,” she said. “I have been feeling…off as of late. My baser instincts seemed to have robbed me of my senses.”

 

“But you’re okay now?” Scott asked.

 

“I don’t know,” the woman admitted. “I remember everything, but I do feel in control for the moment.”

 

“What the hell was that freaky house?” Isaac asked. “Were those really ghosts?”

 

“Oh, I bought the place off an old witch after she decided to retire to Cancun.” The woman told them. “Illusions, not ghosts. They were tied to the house, not me.” She paused. “Oh shit!”

 

“What?!”

 

“My house!” the woman bemoaned. “My anti-depressants were in there!”

 

“Anti-depressants?”

 

“My family doesn’t accept my ‘alternative lifestyle’.” The woman crossed her arms defensively. She looked moderately embarrassed. “My kind… in order to blend in with humans we select human mates, usually by force. If I… well, you’ll see…”

 

After taking a relaxing breath the woman opened her eyes and took on a more monkey-like face. Her fingers grew longer and a thick coat of dark brown curly hair covered her entire body (or what they could see of it) and lastly a tail appeared and peaked out of the collar of her shirt.

 

“Whoa,” was the general reaction.

 

 “You got a name?” Scott asked.

 

“Yáng Rǎn Chóu,” the creature replied haughtily. “Spelled with the characters for poplar tree and dyed silk. You may call me, Miss Yang.”

 

“A monkey.” Derek cued in a low voice. “And you called Kira a kitsune.” He flashed his blue eyes and Scott did the same so they could see the there was an aura around the girl in the shape of a fox.

 

“So?” The shifter asked as she wiggled. The monkey shifter turned to look at Kira heatedly. “ _Her_ kind is what you need to watch out for. Tricksters, the lot of them. Although, I suppose thunder kitsune are better than most.”

 

Kira did well not to look offended by the monkey-woman’s words, but a faint blush of fury colored her cheeks.

 

“Wait, what did you say you were?” Stiles asked.

 

“Humans call my kind chóu.” Miss Yang said. “Harmless, mostly. Very conservative and traditional in their ways. Hence why I am an outcast.” She snuck a suggestive glance at Kira. “Normally I don’t go kidnapping underage girls. I have no idea what could have come over me. I usually have better control than that.”

 

Stiles choked to cover a laugh. “Have you ever heard of a thing called a ‘minus wave’, Miss Yang?”

 

“Ah! That would explain it. Do tell,” the woman insisted.

 

* * *

 

 

 “The problem is you think defeating one opponent will earn you victory.” Miss Yang told them as she flipped through some papers that consisted of the pack’s notes on the subject. “That’s a very western way of thinking, just capture the ‘king’ and all is well.”

 

“Like chess?” Lydia asked.

 

“But as your new tactician I have another game in mind,” Miss Yang told them.

 

“ _Excuse me_?” Lydia, Mr. Stilinski, Ms. McCall, Stiles, and Erica asked collectively. Scott, Isaac, and Derek were dealing with the local pack who had no idea they had a kitsune or a chóu in their territory and wanted the trouble magnets gone as soon as possible.

 

Miss Yang was sitting on a counter top with her legs cross as she looked up at them like they were idiots.

 

“Of course.” She said. “I’ve already settled a monetary compensation sum with the Yukimuras for the inconvenience I caused them. However, I cannot afford to pay off the debt owed to the pack; therefore I must offer my services.”

 

“You really don’t have to-“ Stiles started but was met with a deadly glare.

 

“You would willingly insult my honor by not accepting my offer of compensation?” Miss Yang asked threateningly.

 

“Nope. Welcome to the team!” Stiles said cheerfully. “We’re going to take back Beacon Hills from the hands of a crazy exhunter and a bunch of zombies.”

 

“That’s fine.” Miss Yang looked back down at the notes. “I’m _very_ good at what I do. But according to this you’re taking on not one, but two figurative chess masters. You’ve forgotten about Peter, haven’t you?” She didn’t bother to look up to see the pale faces of the group and kept talking. “The minus wave will affect anyone with a weak sense of self. Having a pack helps. Offer temporary units protection and a ‘safety in numbers’ sale’s pitch and that is how you build an army.”

 

“And that’s what you want,” Stiles guessed. “You were able to pull back, but I’m guessing the minus wave is affecting you more than you’re letting on.”

 

“Downfall of having a fluid personality type.” Miss Yang smirked. “I _was_ born in the year of the Water Monkey.”

 

She set down the notes and pointed two fingers at each of the pack members in a counting sequence and then pointed to herself last. “How much are you all spending on gas?” she asked.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, my god this is amazing!” Stiles couldn’t help, but gush at Miss Yang’s actual living arrangement.

 

The R.V. was huge and Stiles knew this because he had borrowed the tape measure from his dad to test that theory. The only problem was it would need to be refitted to fit the whole pack. Miss Yang had already worked out the logistics with Lydia and they agreed the cut on their expenses would benefit the pack greatly. The large queen bed would have to be switched out for twin mattresses with a divider to negotiate space. Mr. Stilinski agreed that he could retrofit some extra bunk space so the space could accommodate not just the current pack, but extra members they might acquire along the road. The worst case scenario was they would have to use sleeping bags on the floor if they ended up with too many recruits. Although Stiles figured they could use all the help they could get.

 

They sold their other cars off quickly with the exception of Derek’s truck which would be used to haul extra luggage. In very short order the new means of transport was ready. Travel would be slower, but by far more comfortable and they wouldn’t have to stop in towns for the night. In the long run they would probably actually cover more ground if they could travel by night too and switch off drivers.

 

The best part of all was the surround sound and the wide screen TV. Miss Yang blessed their new transport with the honorable name of 白龍馬 in bold paint on the side. She told them it was a cultural thing and the pack just nodded and went inside to start their celebratory movie marathon.

 

* * *

 

 

“Am I the only one who thinks that D.B.’s balls should have been listed in the opening credits of this movie?” Isaac asked.

 

“Shhhh,” Stiles hushed them. “Empty your minds and enjoy that which is a cult classic.”

 

“You do realize (although I can’t be entirely sure this was intentional) that his movie can be taken as a representation of the female sexual awakening?” Miss Yang asked. “Oops, another penis symbol.”

 

She clanked her shot glass with Derek’s and the two of age individuals poured and drank another shot of ridiculously-strong-whatever. Stiles dad had given Miss Yang a look that meant “are you sure you’re old enough to drink?” to which she had glared back with a look of “That’s what my forgery work visa says, plus, you know, supernatural badass says so”.

 

They finished off the night with _Shaolin Soccer_ (Miss Yang’s movie pick) and the pack stumbled off to their claimed bunks. Only Stiles, Scott, and their newest member had stayed to watch the whole thing. They gave tired chuckles as they watched the main character stroll through his Kung fu paradise and the amazing feats the citizens did.

 

It was so quiet that Stiles wasn’t sure he had heard right when Miss Yang muttered, “That’s what I want.” She then said a little louder. “Hey, Scott?”

 

“Yeah?” the alpha replied sleepily.

 

“When we take back Beacon Hills, can we make it a safe haven for supernaturals?” she asked. “Like, so we don’t have to hide who we are anymore?”

 

Scott sighed through his nose. “If we do that, it’ll just make us the target of every hunter in the world.” He pointed out.

 

“Yeah,” Miss Yang agreed quietly. “But I have a feeling if anybody could make it work, it’d be a true alpha right?”

 

Scott thought about it for a minute. Finally he said, “I can’t promise it’ll work out, but for you and the pack I’d be willing to try,” and from the look on her face Stiles knew that they had just bought the woman’s undying loyalty to the pack.

 

Stiles waved Scott off to bed because the werewolf looked asleep on his feet and was left with clean up with Miss Yang. The DVD had paused on the image of the lead couple on the cover of a magazine. Stiles said absently, “I guess I regret missing out on the whole dating thing.”

 

Miss Yang looked over at him confused.

 

“The passion, the fire, the making out like teenagers while actually being a teenager.” Stiles explained. “It’s kind of hard to do that on the literal road trip to hell.”

 

Miss Yang’s face scrunched up in confusion. “But those things are young love. They don’t mean anything.”

 

“Pft. Cynical.”

 

“No, I mean,” Miss Yang faltered. “I’m not saying the feelings aren’t real, but it’s not true love. Not like the fairytales, I mean, fairytales aren’t right either- ugh!” She frowned. “English doesn’t have the right words!”

 

She took a moment to collect herself. “It’s like the difference between a rose bud and a corner stone,” She told him seriously. “People think roses and flowers are romantic for their short lived beauty and everyone wants one.” She huffed. “It’s not surprising since ‘true love’ is actually very rare which is why it’s such a powerful force. All spell casters know this and deep down are they are really big saps so that’s why true love is the number one cure all.”

 

“Have you ever felt it?” Stiles asked curiously.

 

Miss Yang shook her head.

 

“But you have.” She said. Stiles gawked at her and she rolled her eyes. “Scott is your best friend in this world and in your home world. See? That’s true love in the form of friendship. In English you have one inadequate word to describe multiple abstract concepts. You love your dad and you love Scott, but it’s not the same kind of love, is it?”

 

Stiles shook his head.

 

“You love your dad, but you also love Ms. McCall, yeah? It’s also not the same and your love for Ms. McCall is influenced by your love for Scott.”

 

Stiles nodded understandingly.

 

“None of these relationships formed over night.” Miss Yang told him. “Although it feels like forever, a constant universal truth, they were built up over time brick by brick, moment by moment. That is true love, that time and energy that made those relationships what they are. Emotions are pure, raw energy and you can draw power from them. You can use them in your magic.”

 

“I’m not much of a wizard.” Stiles told her.

 

“Magic isn’t something I think about, it’s just something I do. If you have the spark, it is _your_ spark.” Miss Yang told him simply. “Just like how I use a sword as an extension of my body to give me an extra advantage in a fight, you should use magic like an extension of your mind or more specifically your will.”

 

“I know that. I’ve read that. I’ve already been told that.” Stiles said in frustration.

 

Miss Yang flexed her arm. “Yeah, but do you think the first time I picked up a sword I wasn’t awkward like a fish on the river bank? Just because you don’t see the results your looking for right now doesn’t mean you’re not secretly improving.”

 

She waved good night and Stiles sat alone for a moment thinking about what she had said. That night Stiles dreamed about being in preschool of all things.

 

_It’s nice and relaxing not thinking about werewolves or the supernatural. He enjoys the sweet moment where at the back of his mind he knows his mom is going to pick him up after school, but for now it’s all about playing and being a little kid. Little Stiles tumbles over to blocks and dumps out the entire bucket on to the floor._

_Within seconds he’s stacking the blocks on top of each other. The beauty of dream logic allows him to realize that just stacking one block on top of the other won’t work so he makes a little block fort. When he’s done he looks around and sees other block forts, all of which are taller than his to little Stiles’s dismay._

_A crash and a distressed sob catches Stiles’s attention he looks over and see’s another child stacking blocks on the very edge of the play rug. After watching the blocks crash again little Stiles toddles over and scoops up the blocks into his shirt. The child protests but Stiles just takes them by the hand and drags them along, **Let’s play over here!**_

_Stiles dumps the blocks on to his pile starts stacking. He’s really excited. Now they can have the have the biggest best block fort ever!_

**_That’s not right,_ ** _the other child says. **The bigger kids don’t do it like that.**_

_Stiles looks around at the other block forts. Sure enough in the other forts there are pieces missing in places that if not for it being dream land the forts would all come tumbling down. Stiles blinks at the structurally questionable towers and asks, **Why?**_

**_That’s just how it is._ **

****

**_All worlds are connected._ **

 

* * *

 

The next morning Kira was waiting for them at the edge of town with her sword and backpack by her side.


	3. Rule of Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by "quelf". Hours of fun for the whole family and what my headcannon says the first level of hell is like. Enjoy!

It had taken three days before the major team blow out happened. There were bound to be inevitable complications with the addition of new members. Kira was charming, but awkward and Miss Yang was useful only most of the time. The clash of cultures was bound to happen and it was (mostly) up to Scott to sort out the mess.

 

“I’m a very optimistic person!” Miss Yang insisted. “This is how I problem-solve!”

 

“I agree that completely redesigning a city that we haven’t even remotely come close to taking back from the bad guys might be a little much,” Stiles’s dad stated calmly.

 

Miss Yang sighed. “This is the problem with you westerners. You’re back in that chess mindset. Killing one man is not the key to solving the problem. What we are presented with is a perfect opportunity to rebuild a city from the ground up with minimal FEMA involvement and little government intervention. No respected surveyor in their right mind will want to touch that place with a ten foot poll. We could use our own people.”

 

“We’re not killing Gerard.” Scott insisted.

 

“Scott, this isn’t the time for idealism.” Derek reminded. He turned back to Miss Yang, “And your pipedream isn’t much better.

 

“I disagree,” Miss Yang stated. Her temper was clearly wearing thin and her audience was less than attentive. “You need to keep the big picture in mind. You lot are not aware of the big picture because it is made up of different points of view.”

 

With a sweep of her hand Miss Yang cleared the table of her rough blue prints and set down a wooden board.

 

“A go board.” Kira identified.

 

“Ah, yes.” Miss Yang smiled. “But with a twist.”

 

She took the two pots that should have held only black and white pieces and spilled everything onto the board. The pieces sorted themselves in an array of colors turning the board into a Skittles commercial. The pieces arranged themselves into camps and both defensive and attack positions. She pointed to the one piece that stayed black.

 

“From what we presume, Gerard still has the most adventitious position because of his allies—“ she pointed to a collection of gray units first and then a dark blue unit. “—the hunters and the dark druid. The hunters want to exterminate all supernatural creatures. The druid’s motive is unknown, but I’m fairly certain she’s not just doing the old guy a favor.”

 

“There’s also the Alpha pack.” Erica growled as she stared hard at the red units on the board.

 

“And Peter.” Derek agreed.

 

“What do the other colors represent?” Stiles asked as he studied the yellows, greens, browns, and pinks across the board.

 

“The neutral majority,” Miss Yang explained. “I know it feels like the end of the world to you guys, but for most people this hurricane is just another storm and they weather it by laying low and out of sight.”

 

“And you think we can recruit them.” Scott noted.

 

“Depends.” Miss Yang waved her hand and the board put itself and its pieces away. “I disagree with Derek about your idealism, Scott. It’s not a weakness. If you can stick with it, it’ll actually make you very strong. You’ll draw in more allies and have fewer enemies. The few enemies you have will mistake you for weak and underestimate you.”

 

The packs reaction to that statement varied. Erica and Isaac were doubtful. Mr. Stilinski just looked tired and Ms. McCall looked proud of her son. Derek was expressionless and Stiles looked thoughtful.

 

“I think she’s right.” Lydia said suddenly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Run this plan by me again,” Scott requested as Lydia inspected his tie.

 

“It’s a good plan and we’re sticking to it,” Lydia replied as she tightened his knot and checked the tuxedo’s collar for lint.

 

“My plans are good!” Stiles protested and Miss Yang whacked him over the head with her decorative fan.

 

“Yes, but my plans are more fun.” Miss Yang told him coyly as she fluttered the red fan in front of her face so that only her twinkling eyes were showing.

 

The entire pack, with the exception of the two only real adults, was dressed in fine clothing. The boys wore suits and the girls wore dresses that accented their assets. Erica was wearing in a cocktail dress that accented her body just how she liked and earned Miss Yang’s approval (although she insisted blonds weren’t her type). Lydia wore a pale evening dress that made her look like a queen, not a princess. Kira wore a kimono that Miss Yang had picked out. The kitsune made faces and complained that the many layers were cumbersome.

 

“Small steps, Yukimura-san, small steps.” Miss Yang coached. She and Lydia both admired the work of art they had made out of the girl’s hair. Miss Yang was dressed in a bright red 1920s style Chinese dress and accents. Her natural brown curls were flaunted and tamed by pins and tiny combs that were more subtle than Kira’s hair style, but equally as beautiful.

 

Their destination was the premier club for those of the supernaturally inclined called “Little San Francisco”. It was where the more skilled (and supposedly more honorable) mercenaries picked up their clients. Miss Yang explained that all they had to do was walk in like they owned the place, mingle, spread a few rumors like that the heir to the Hale pack (whose nest egg wasn’t something to shake a stick at) was alive and well and looking for a few helping hands to reclaim a few valuable family heirlooms from ground zero.

 

“Technically, not lying,” Stiles agreed.

 

He was mildly disappointed that he hadn’t come up with the plan first, but Miss Yang assured him that he was still a prodigy of the art of flying-by-the-seat-of-your-pants. It had been funny to see her stop in the middle of a sentence during their brainstorming session and zero in on Derek before asking how much his family was worth again after remembering the story of the burned down mansion. As it turned out, Derek was freaking loaded (although he couldn’t access that wealth at the moment). According to their calculations it would take Peter at least fifty years and a few private islands to drain the accounts completely. The secret stash was kept safely in a vault for a rainy day.

 

“News Flash, this is a freaking hurricane.” Miss Yang said. “We’ll mention the bonds stashed in a vault which only Derek knows the location and is the only one besides Peter who can open it. It’s the lost ark, the Holy Grail; it’s every treasure hunter’s dream adventure. Hence the snazzy get up.” She waved at their clothes. “Remember to give them vague numbers. Over such-and-such, but not the actual amount because the rest we’ll need to rebuild Beacon Hills.”

 

“I didn’t say that.” Derek muttered.

 

“It’s your family’s legacy and responsibility.” Miss Yang replied without even looking at him.

 

“Don’t make Scott give you the puppy eyes,” Stiles teased. “Please Derek? Just a couple hundred million? We’ll name a park bench after you.”

 

“Lydia already called having the library named after her.” Miss Yang added.

 

“Oh, does that mean if we save the town we all get buildings?” Isaac asked.

 

Miss Yang studied him and then turned to Stiles and asked, “What do you think? Swimming pool?”

 

“That might be awkward. His dad was a swim coach and that actually got him murdered by a lizard of vengeance.” Scott told her.

 

Miss Yang nodded in a silent agreement to table the discussion for another time. Scott smiled at them all with affection. He had figured out what Miss Yang was doing and realized it was actually quite smart. Having a shared fantasy gave the pack something to think about that wasn’t a bad memory. It both boosted their morale and brought the pack together. They didn’t really think they’d actually have buildings named after them or actually rebuild the city into something picturesque, but it was nice to dream.

 

“Let’s go,” Scott told them. He held out his arm to Kira. Stiles offered the same for Lydia. Derek did the same for Erica. When Isaac offered his arm to Miss Yang she sighed in disappointment, but took it.

 

“Looks like you’re my wingman tonight,” She told the beta sternly. Isaac beamed.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek accepted the glass of whisky with wolf’s bane in it. The golden liquid burned as is slid down his throat as it eased his mind. He stood with his back to the bar keeping an eye out on the teenagers.

 

Pack was family. He owed Scott his life and his loyalty. The betas still felt a kinship with him since he was the wolf who had turned them, but there was tension there. Isaac still resented Derek for turning him out, sending him to Scott for his own safety when the Alpha Pack had first invaded. Erica felt that Derek should have tried harder to make her and Boyd stay then maybe Boyd would still be alive. In Derek’s opinion revenge was the only thing they could offer her and it was the only reason Erica stayed with them.

 

Derek didn’t trust the monkey woman. She was useful enough, but not a long term thing. She would leave when her perceived debt was squared or when the pack no longer entertained her interest. The kitsune obvious liked Scott. Traditionally foxes and wolves didn’t get along, but then again Scott’s first girlfriend had been a hunter. Scott probably had a taste for really bad ideas when it came to women, but it wasn’t like Derek could talk. Derek’s own track record was even worse.

 

The monkey woman slid into the bar stool next to him. “I call dibbs on the piano player,” she said with a smirk. In her hand was a vodka mix. Derek frowned.

 

“I thought we were looking for mercenaries,” he said trying not to eyeball the said piano player’s neckline which dipped tastefully low and exposed one stunning brown shoulder.

 

“You got a little drool going there,” Stiles quipped as he passed the monkey woman a napkin. Derek’s mouth twitched in amusement. Stiles asked, “Tall, dark, and damn fine is your preference, huh?”

 

Miss Yang nodded dumbly. The piano player was at least a head taller than her, but that was without heels. “Lend me your stick so I can beat off her suitors,” Miss Yang pleaded. Stiles raised an eyebrow.

 

“Your staff!” Miss Yang hissed and muttered, “Dirty minded teenagers. Why did you bring that in anyway? I don’t sense anything special about it… Do you even know how to use that thing?”

 

“Oh,” Stiles realized that the story about the staff never came up because it was less important than evil hunters, alpha werewolves, and zombies. “It’s a replica, actually. I don’t know what the real one did, but this one blasted a demon once. And yes I know how to use it. You hit people with it.”

 

“He usually ends up just hitting himself in the face,” Derek said before taking another sip of his drink. “I keep telling him I’d help him practice.”

 

“Your version of ‘practice’ is throwing people across the room,” Stiles drawled.

 

Miss Yang rolled her eyes. “I charge extra for training. I’m a tactician, not a teacher.”

 

“Yeah, well you probably couldn’t do any worse than that guy.” Stiles pointed at Derek.

 

The air of the club suddenly changed as the music shifted from a serenade to pure seduction. Derek felt a shiver run through him as lithe fingers crushed the minor key under metaphorical stilettos. Bum-bah bump-ba-dum was all the warning they received before another instrument hissed like a rattlesnake and silence filled the club. A low, tantalizing voice filled their ears with “Kiss of Fire”.

 

“ _Con este tango que es burlón y compadrito,_

_se ató dos alas la ambición de mi suburbio.”_

 

“Oh, gods,” Miss Yang whispered reverently. “She’s Spanish. _Spain_ , Spanish.”

 

“You can tell?” Stiles looked at her mildly impressed.

 

Derek silently flipped his glass to swallow the rest of his whiskey and chase away the dry feeling in his mouth.

 

“ _Conjuro extraño de un amor hecho cadencia_

_que abrió caminos sin más ley que su esperanza,_

_mezcla de rabia, de dolor, de fe, de ausencia_

_llorando en la inocencia de un ritmo juguetón_.”

 

“I wish love potions were real.” Miss Yang fanned herself. “Flowers and chocolates are too cheap, unworthy to woo such a goddess.”

 

“You mean that figuratively right? Because these days I feel like we have to check.” Stiles shut his mouth after he realized he was being ignored. He glanced over at the other half of their group where Scott was signaling. Stiles tugged on Miss Yang’s arm tried to herd Derek like a lost sheep ( _heh_ ).Stiles didn’t think the wolf jokes would ever get old). “Come along swooners. We’re on a mission, remember?”

 

“You gotta be my wingman on this, Stiles.” Miss Yang resisted his pull. “Derek thinks he’s got a shot, but she’ll eat him alive. It’s for the sake of the pack that you back me up on this.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, you both _clearly_ have a type so she’s probably evil anyway.” Stiles mumbled as he continued shoving on the immovable supernatural objects with his very non-supernatural force. Eventually he was able to get them moving in the right direction although for some reason they were still gravitating towards the piano. Stiles sighed.

 

“Scott’s got this. He’ll be fine.” Miss Yang insisted. She whined and pleaded, “Just a taste! Just something to full my fantasies for the next 900 years.”

 

Derek remained expressionless, but was dividing his attention between where they were walking and the woman on stage. Scott seemed to grasp the situation and met them half way with Kira walking shyly behind him. Erica and Isaac weren’t too far behind.

 

“Where’s Lydia?” Stiles asked.

 

“She’s securing a meeting with a contact.” Scott nodded towards the stage just as the music made another dramatic drop. “It might be a minute.”

 

Their “contact” eased on stage and plucked the microphone off the piano. His eyes flashed silver before settling on a heartbreaking shade of blue that offset his shoulder length blond hair. In a baritone voice he counted the woman’s verse with:

 

_“I touch your lips and all at once the sparks go flying_

_Those devil lips that know so well the art of lying_

_And though I see the danger, still the flame grows higher_

_I know I must surrender to your kiss of fire_ ”

 

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t know, Scott. He looks like a lover, not a fighter.”

 

“Boo, give the mic back to my Madona.” Miss Yang hissed.

 

“I’m not complaining.” Erica said to no one in particular.

 

The performance ended and the two singers took a bow before departing the stage to make room for the next act. The pack joined Lydia and the male singer/heart-throb back stage in his dressing room. The performer agreed to pass the packs invitation around to the rest of the staff if they knew of any mercenaries looking for that kind of work. There were no takers at the moment. The singer said it could well be a few days before any interested parties showed. The pack couldn’t afford to wait a few days.

 

“What about in the underground?” Miss Yang asked suddenly.

 

The singer looked at her startled.

 

“Oh, sorry,” Miss Yang asked coyly. “Was that supposed to be a secret? I couldn’t help but notice your singers were exceptionally… _talented_.” The last word was dripping with hidden meaning that eluded the pack.

 

“They won’t help you,” the singer warned the monkey-woman flatly, “Even if you had a hundred year’s worth of _talent_ at your disposal.”

 

The woman exhaled defeated. “It was worth a shot. You never know with _them_.”

 

“You never know with _shifters_ ,” the singer countered earning him a clever smirk in reply. “Agreed, worth a shot, but keep in mind their nature. Charles Baudelaire captured it well, I believe.”

 

“ _One should always be drunk. That's all that matters; … So as not to feel Time's horrible burden …get drunk without ceasing.”_ She quoted. “ _But what with? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you choose._ ’ Yes, I _know_ the kind of people they are.”

 

After the dressing room closed behind them the pack bombarded Miss Yang with questions. “The underground is a secret that is best not known.” Miss Yang told them. “You’d have better luck convincing Switzerland to come to our aid. It is comprised of certain… _ethnicity_ that is best not named.”

 

“Like he-who-shall-not-be-named?” Stiles inquired. “They are a _they_ -that-shall-not-be-named?”

 

“A secret society that only a few people know about?” Scott asked hesitantly.

 

“ _Werewolves_ , Scotty.”

 

“That’s not a free-pass for anything’s possible, Stiles.”

 

Miss Yang cleared her throat. “More possible than you know.” She told them. “The sooner you accept the impossible the better.”

 

Miss Yang instantly perked up as a group of dancers filled out of the dressing rooms dressed in fishnet stockings and bunny accessories. She eased passed the collection of teenagers to get a better view of the dancers’ legs and short skirts.

 

“Seriously?” Stiles asked as he watched the bunny group out of the corner of his eye. “We were making really philosophical headway there for a minute. We need to work on your attention span.” By the time Stiles had finished his outraged declaration he was out right staring as the last fluffy tail vanished behind the curtain.

 

“I’ll get right on that.” Miss Yang said absently.

 

They were too distracted to notice a straggler come barreling towards them until the dancer crashed into Lydia who was shoved towards Kira who crashed into Stiles who was sent sprawling to the floor to the rest of the pack’s amusement. Derek had caught Lydia in time and Scott did the same for Kira.

 

“Ow.” Stiles knew that there would be a nasty bruise blooming on his face by tomorrow. He pushed himself into a kneeling position and glanced around for his precious (useless) staff.

 

The staff lay not five feet away right in the middle of a high traffic hallway. At least three people tripped over it and kicked the staff further down the hall in irritation.

 

Stiles could not believe his luck. When he turned the corner the staff was gone. The human looked around frantically until he saw it sticking out of a broom closet.

 

“Stiles?” Scott turned the corner just in time to see his best friend walk into the closet and heard the door slam shut too loudly to be natural. The alpha ran up to the door and knocked loudly. “Stiles!”

 

“What happened?” the pack rushed to their alpha’s side.

 

“Oh, shit.” Miss Yang cursed. “Swear to the gods, I don’t need this right now.”

 

“Do you know what’s going on?”

 

“Pretty sure.” Miss Yang nodded. “Well, they-who-shall-not be named decided to make an entrance. Me and my big mouth.”

 

“And now they have Stiles.” Derek said.

 

“No.” Miss Yang turned to look at the now all too quiet and eerie hallway. There were three doors that she was very certain hadn’t been there previously. Miss Yang walked over and opened the doors one by one. On the other side was the main floor of the club playing different music out of every door. When she closed the last door again she turned to the pack and said, “Now they have _all_ of us.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Stiles opened the broom closet again, after not finding his staff after all, he found himself back in the club. Or rather he found himself back in what the club must have looked like forty years ago. The sudden and very colorful theme change threw him for a loop. All the patrons of The Little San Francisco now had flowers in their hair.

 

Stiles looked around for his friends, but didn’t see hide or hair of his supernatural safety nets and realized he was royally screwed.

 

The band on stage sang: “ _Who's your Baby ? Who's the one you love ? …Who's you dreaming of ?_ ”

 

Stiles grabbed the shoulder of a tall guy with chocolate skin, pointy ears, and zebra stripped bellbottom pants. “Dude, where am I?”

 

“You’re in the underground, _man_.” The dark elf grinned. “First time? You look like a changeling.”

 

“Uh, yeah?” Stiles answered uncertainly. “What’s with all the flower-power?” He pointed to the hippie themed décor.

 

“In the underground it don’t matter which court you are. The king of the labyrinth takes good care of his people.” The elf shrugged and then went back to shaking his hip. “Bread and circuses, maybe, but compared to fighting and killing- I know I’d rather dance. Wouldn’t you?”

 

Stiles lowered his arm uncertainly, “…yeah, that sounds… pretty good.” His heart was racing as he thought about what might have befallen his friends. Stiles was torn between hop of rescue and hope they didn’t jump into danger. He looked around for resources. Miss Yang and his dad would nag him for not knowing what his recourses are. There were always, _always_ resources. _Fairies_ , he needed a clue about fairies, but the only fairy he had ever met (well besides banshees) was-

 

“Oh, crazy, totally crazy so-“ Stiles looked up at the stage. The band was running through the song a second time to give the crowd a chance to sing along. When the chorus came up again Stiles grabbed a spare microphone and slid on stage with an audible CRASH! The band looked at him awkwardly as Stiles cleared his throat.

 

“Um…” Stiles faltered. “ _Upon opening your eyes when morning comes/what's the very first thing on your mind ?_ ” With a little more confidence he continued singing, _“If you had enough –hey-- would you give me some? and would a thank you to you do you fiiiine.”_

 

The drums picked up again and the guitar soon followed. Stiles swayed to the music and threw in a little razzle-dazzle for good measure. The band members smiled and bobbed along as they finished out the song. Stiles was just thanking his lucky gods that the fairies were totally cool with jamming to The Archies.

 

They ran through two more songs before the band’s token blond-chick kissed Stiles on the cheek. “A gift,” she said. “You’re a changeling, yes? A human snatched?”

 

“Yeah, I guess.” Stiles told her. The assessment wasn’t wrong. He was sort of a changeling, a replacement. He hoped because of that something in fairy culture would prompt them to help him. It seemed to work because the fairy got a nurturing looking in her eye so Stiles asked, “Is there a way to find my friends?”

 

“Uplanders?”

 

“They are soooo not hip with the ways of the good folk.”  Stiles replied while remembering last minute fairies actually didn’t like being called ‘fairies’. That was what humans called them, hence the “shall-not-be-named” Miss Yang had been hinting at.

 

“Ah, then they don’t know about the rules.”

 

“Refresh my memory, please?”

 

The fairy smiled. “It’s a game the King likes to play. The rules change according to luck. There are group laws and there are personal laws.” Stiles paled and the fairy assured him, “I wouldn’t worry, it’s instinctual what your rules are, so your friends would have to actively try to break them.”

 

“What’s the sentence if they break a law?”

 

“They must perform an act.” The fairy shrugged. “I’ve never broken a rule.” She perked up. “Oh, the laws are changing now. You’ll see.”

 

Stiles felt a wave of power wash over him. The only object in his hand was the microphone and suddenly it felt very near and dear to him. He clutched it to himself and asked pleadingly, “Can I keep this?”

 

“Of course!” The fairy woman smiled. “What are you going to name it?”

 

“I’m going to call him…Charles!” Stiles declared. “Come on, Charles, we need to find the rest of the pack!” He did a little victory dance before stopping appalled. “Uh… was that a rule?”

 

“Yup!” the fairy cheered. “You did it perfectly! Not so bad, yes? Have fun with your new rule.”

 

Stiles thanked her and then skedaddled before he was overcome with the urge to do a victory dance again. There was some sick, deviant part of him that was hoping his worry was misplaced and this would all end up as a hilarious story to tell the grandkids. He surged onward gleefully expecting to find his friends in a compromising and hopefully halarious position. There were three doors that appeared in the wall prompting Stiles to pick at random.

 

* * *

 

 

“Isaac! Come on! We have to get out of here!” Erica snapped over the 1930s big band music.

 

“I can’t!” Isaac wailed as he anxiously kept his elbow pressed against the wall. He didn’t know why, but he absolutely could not lift his elbow from the wall for any reason. Terrible, terrible things would happen if he did. “Can’t you go find help?”

 

“You talkin’ to me?” Erica growled in her deepest voice.

 

Isaac’s eyes widened and he stared at Erica like she had gone crazy. “Who else would I be talking to?!”

 

“You talkin’ to me?” Erica asked again before slapping her hands over her mouth looking stunned.

 

“Erica?”

 

“You talkin’ to me?!” Erica growled before covering Isaac’s mouth. She hissed. “Don’t say anything! It happens whenever you ask me a question!” Isaac nodded understandingly.

 

At that moment a waiter with drinks on a tray decided to walk over. “To the end of Prohibition. Can I get you folks anything?”

 

“You talkin’ to me?”

 

Isaac banged his head against the wall.

 

* * *

 

 

“Bleeping fairies. Bleeping fairyland. Of course I get stuck with bleeping teenagers with bleeping magic curses!” Miss Yang grumbled.

 

“Why do you keep saying ‘bleep’ and ‘bleeping’? You don’t have to sensor yourself in front of me.” Lydia told her absently.

 

“The same bleeping reason you keep bleeping air drumming with my bleeping hair chopsticks.” Miss Yang told her. “Or do you usually do a bleeping Ringo Star impression in dangerous situations?”

 

Lydia paused in the middle of her air drum solo. In her hands were the hair accessories she had stolen from Miss Yang. After a second she continued tapping the air like a cymbal. “Oh, I thought I was doing that because the music was catchy for a disco throwback.

 

“Come the bleep on.” Miss Yang sighed. “Let’s bleeping see which decade the rest of the bleeping pack decided to drop into.”

 

* * *

 

 

Derek’s green tie was now tied around his forehead and he had no idea why or what compelled him to do so. Every man in the room had been struck by the same idea. When he had tried to remove the tie a waitress had kindly informed him that if he broke the house rules he would have to pay a penalty. One glance at the yellow card she was threatening him with was enough to convince him that he in no way looked at all ridiculous.

 

 The price for breaking a rule was making an even bigger fool out of yourself. In Derek’s case he had narrowly avoided having to run around to find a book, a plant, a hammer, and a spoon in less than two minutes so he could give them to random people. The “or else” was implied and Derek was by no means inclined to find out what the heavier sentence was. He had watched two men fail the punishment and vanish after their warning cards turned red.  Derek was so freaking done with fairies.

 

He sniffed the air carefully, but there wasn’t a pack smell anywhere. He did detect a faint and familiar perfume. It tickled his nose like a feather and had the faint undertones of innocence to it that he hadn’t sensed in a long time. The werewolf turned his gaze to the crowd with hunter’s eyes. His back straightened.

 

“Paige?” Derek whispered before he could check himself. He wanted slap himself for his own stupidity. Fairies, _tricksters_ , he had to be on guard. It was a trick and once Derek got a clearer read on the scent he could see for himself that the woman was only vaguely like his first love. Their scent had a similar undertone, like families sometime times had, but that was it.

 

 _Fairies_ , he reminded himself and tried to ignore the spirals of brown and tiny frame. The fairy woman was just barely over 5 feet tall. Finally, the woman turned around and caught his eye. She walked up to Derek and held out her hand.

 

“Lisbon,” she said. She didn’t pull back her hand when Derek failed to react. “A changeling, if you must know.”

 

“You’re human,” Derek realized. He looked the woman up and down unabashed.

 

“ _Changeling_ ,” the woman reiterated. “I was adopted.”

 

“You were taken.”

 

“Can you even begin to understand the pain of losing a child?” the woman challenged.

 

She explained that the fair folk were banished from their homeland when they lost the war. To them it was like being sent to Mars with minimal supplies. If it wasn’t for the milk of a human mother their child would have died.

 

“My changeling sister is still too weak to return to her family.” The woman told him, “As she is raised with love by my birth parents, I am raised with love by hers.”

 

“And if she was mistreated?” Derek challenged.

 

“For every mark she received, so would I be marked.” The woman replied. “It is only fair and it is the law. Do not look down on my people, shape-shifter. They are called the fair folk for a reason. To them the law is everything.”

 

“And yet how quickly their laws seem to change.” Derek noted feeling the power wash over him again compelling him. At least he could finally get the stupid tie of his forehead.

 

“It is a small price for peace.” She said, “The fair folk dance best when they are kept on their toes.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles ran down the hall with the distinct impression that he wasn’t getting anywhere and the tie around his forehead kept smacking him in the face. The door in the distance didn’t seem to be getting any closer, but the mural on the wall kept changing as he jogged forward. He couldn’t read fairy languages, but the pictures were vivid enough; Elves, fair folk, at war with each other until they had decimated their numbers to the point they couldn’t fend off a third invader- the humans.

 

After losing their rights to the surface the fair folk fled to the underground where they continued their skirmishes between the occasional pranks on humanity. The problem with being so long lived was that it took longer to grow into wisdom. What took humans a mere century took the fair folk a thousand years and peace was a hard lesson to learn.

 

Stiles stopped in front of the picture of the underground king. He wasn’t technically a king since he technically had no subjects. Anyone was welcomed into his land as guests as long as they followed his laws. This was how the seelie and the unseelie court members, trooping fairies and solitary fairies, dark elves and light could coexist and forget their wars for a time. In a sense the underground was a fairyland for the fairy kind, but if the pack hung around too long they would whittle down their mortal days lost in a dream of false pleasure.

 

If they became trapped they would never again see the sun, rain, or know life’s pleasures and pains. They wouldn’t graduate high school, eventually marry with a 50% probability of divorce, make a few kids, and possibly retire to Florida and die in a nursing home. Stiles realized that there was definitely a certain appeal to indefinitely checking into to Fairyland’s premiere hotel were the pack was safe from Gerard, the alphas, and death, destruction, and more death.

 

Stiles had read enough of Abmyrddin’s notes, namely the fairytale stories, and he knew that as a human (a severely underrated species in the scheme of things) it was his duty to pull his friends head out of their asses and get them back on the right track. It wasn’t the easy track, but that’s how Stiles knew with out a doubt it was the right way to go if he could just manage to get to the blasted magic-trick door at the end of the hallway. In Abmyrddin’s notes underlined in red, bolded, starred, and highlighted was a warning that life wasn’t a fairytale and for that Stiles thanked the gods. He had read the source material. Nothing good ever happened in “actual” fairytales.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, thank the gods, I found you.” Stiles wheezed as he laid his head on Scott’s shoulder. The alpha and the kitsune had managed to stay together. “Tell me the good news.”

 

“We have to get out of here.” Scott told him.

 

“Noted, what else?”

 

“I think you dropped something.” Scott grinned and handed Stiles his black staff.

 

“Scott, I love you, marry me.” Stiles said as he took back his magical item.

 

Scott leaned his head towards their newest pack member and said, “Actually, Kira was the one who won it back for you. Turns out fairies like to gamble.”

 

“In that case, I retract my previous statement,” Stiles said. “Kira, I love you, I know you think Scott’s puppy looks are the bomb, but I hope you’ll keep this lowly human in mind.”

 

Kira laughed. “Thank you, Stiles. I’m just glad I could help.” She blushed slightly at the mention of her very obvious crush.

 

 The staff at the most made Stiles look kind of important and occasionally glowed and smote demons and-

 

“Oh!” Stiles blurted out, “I think I can get out of here. When I was trapped in the cave, the staff showed me the way out.”

 

Scott asked, “Do you think you could make it work now?”

 

“Maybe?” Stiles answered uncertainly. “Abmyrddin said this staff was a replica… but I think it’s supposed to be like magic training wheels? Which is awesome, but I’m still trying to learn how to get on the figurative bike first.”

 

“Right, be the spark.” Scott nodded. “You can do it, dude. You did it once.”

 

“The laws are about to change,” Kira warned.

 

“You can tell?” Stiles’s concentration slipped and he stared curiously at the kitsune.

 

Kira nodded and explained what she had discovered. Scott had already heard her conclusions, but it was important for Stiles to get up to speed. The laws changed in what seemed like random intervals, but it was actually part of a circular pattern. Sometimes the laws only affected individuals while other times the laws affected everyone equally. Each person could be subjected to one personal rule and one universal rule, but only one of each.

 

“Everything else is fair game,” Kira warned.

 

“You mean we could get stabbed right now and nobody would care?” Stiles asked horrified. Kira shook her head.

 

“I don’t know, but I suspect that if someone were to get violent their personal rule would change to prevent it.” Kira said. “If you break your rule, you have to pay a fine in the form of a task.”

 

A wave of power rippled over the room. It was completely random, but for some reason Stiles stopped moving. Several wait staff members entered the room and everyone was careful to avoid spilling anything they were carrying. The human senses that spilling a drink would end very badly.

 

So, naturally Stiles picked up a cup and spilled a splash on the floor just for the sake of curiosity. Kira and Scott looked at him horrified. At that moment a waitress appeared with a yellow card.

 

“Honored guest,” she said. “If you continue to disobey our laws you will have to pay a fine.”

 

She showed him the card.

 

“Oh, hells yes!” Stiles said. “Start the timer! Scotty! Get over here. You can help me.”

 

“Huh?” Scott read the card. “Oh, okay.”

 

They struck a dramatic pose and the waitress read the card out loud drawing in an audience:

“Your thumbs are hence forth dueling dragons. Select a dragon that you think will best your opponent and begin the duel to death complete with sound effects. When four minutes are up the duel is over and you must declare a winner. Begin!”

 

Stiles had a lot more fun with that task than he should have. He wished he could pay all his parking fines with a goofy stunt. Scott really got into it too by using his wolf growls for dramatic dragon noises. Kira didn’t know whether to be amused or horrified. After four minutes were up, although Stiles wished he could call a draw, they declared Scott the winner. They knew better than to mess with fairy semantics. Once the task was complete the fairies cheered and went about their business.

 

“That wasn’t so bad.” Stiles said.

 

“But if you had failed to complete the task you would have been sent to prison,” Kira scolded. “You were lucky Scott was here! A random person probably wouldn’t have helped you.”

 

“You underestimate the charms of the Stiles, but I see your point.” The human acknowledged. “We should probably find the rest of our group. Come on, magic staff.”

 

“Focus on finding Lydia first.” Scott suggested.

 

“Oh, good plan.”

 

* * *

 

 

“The fair folk don’t feel emotions the same way humans do,” Lisbon explained. “Polyamorous relationships are actually quite common. Instead of being exclusive to one individual the fair folk will have one partner from either sex that they are loyal to.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Is there something wrong with having both a mate and a lover?” the changeling challenged. “I suppose biologically speaking it ensures that there are more caregivers. Fertility rates are extremely low and it’s a struggle for children to survive infancy. I know you think our ways are strange, but they are necessary.”

 

Derek’s conversation with the changeling had led them to a table with wine. The changeling sipped her beverage freely. She stared at Derek a moment and pondered, “I wonder, how much of a wolf you actually have. Werewolves don’t really sound all that different from humans to me.”

 

“There’s more truth to that than you know,” Derek agreed. “There was another Alpha who would visit my mother. She her pack was small and peaceful. She used to say, ‘three things are not long hidden’.”

 

“The sun, the moon, and the truth. Or in your case, your true nature.” Lisbon smiled smugly over her wine glass. “The fair folk practically invented riddles, shape-shifter. It’s how they communicate. I am fluent in riddles and songs, yet certain aspects of my human heritage escape me.”

 

“You’re asking me to enlighten you?” Derek raised an unconvinced eyebrow.

 

“I’m a scholar, shape-shifter. It’s a very noble profession among the fair folk.” She sipped her glass while Derek left his glass untouched. “I’ll understand if you’re all beauty and no brains. Not all of us can be as blessed. I know you find me physically attractive.”

 

“And you don’t?”

 

“I’m constantly surrounded by beauty, shape-shifter,” the changeling pointed out. “I’m afraid you’ll have to have display a little character to impress me. So far your eyebrows have displayed more character individually than your entire person.”

 

“Do you always insult you dates?” Derek asked.

 

“I wasn’t aware this was a date,” Lisbon retorted with a snort. “Have I missed out on a critical social cue?”

 

“I think it’s a little ironic that you keep calling me human.” Derek moved his wine glass a little closer, but still didn’t drink from it.

 

“Are you are not?”

 

“Not according to humans,” Derek replied darkly.

 

“Correct me if I’m wrong.” She leaned back in her chair with her arms crossed. “But I believe humans have a long history of mistaken identity. Are you really not aware of the origins of lycanthropy?”

 

“The jury is still out on that one.” Derek admitted. “Nobody knows who the first werewolves were.”

 

The changeling clicked her tongue. “I suppose that’s fair. Nobody (except the fair folk who don’t even care) _remembers_ how humans came to be either. I would hate to spoil the prequel for you then, but I will say you are strikingly more human than not. How else would your ‘kind’ comingle with humanity so intimately? If you weren’t human wouldn’t any relationships you’ve had be considered acts of _bestiality_?”

 

Derek stood up and growled at her for the insult.

 

“Not helping your case there,” the changeling said calmly despite the sudden uptick in her heartbeat. “You’re right. The fae would call you a human. The humans would call you a monster. So, which are you really, shape-shifter?”

 

“If you’re trying to make a point, make it.” Derek ordered sternly.

 

By that time the changeling had emptied her glass and had picked up Derek’s. She drained the cup and looked eminently pleased. “Beauty and brains it would seem. You know better than to touch food or drink of the fair folk.” The changeling stood up and entered Derek’s personal space in challenge. “If you want my opinion, you’re too human for your own good, shape-shifter.” She played with his shirt. “More ’s the pity.”

 

“And just why is that a pity?” Derek asked heatedly.

 

The changeling took another sip of wine and held the glass in her hand, but out of the way. She stood on her tiptoes to place a chaste kiss on the side of his mouth. “Because your stay is temporary. I like them well enough but humans are rare.” She traced a crease along his sleeve with a finger. “It’s only an academic interest.”

 

“Oh, really?”

 

“Yes, would you mind if I did some scientific inquiry?”

 

“Depends what it is.”

 

“I’m not asking to sleep with you.” The changeling said dryly. “But I am curious. Do you mind if I-“ she sipped the wine again. “Have just a little taste?”

 

“What do I get in return?” Derek asked cautiously.

 

“If you kiss me,” the changeling said thoughtfully. “I will answer any three questions you have to the best of my knowledge completely and truthfully.”

 

“Does that mean you know how to get myself and my pack out of this fun house?”

 

“Ah-ah-ah,” the changeling tisked. “Technically you’ve already sampled my knowledge. There won’t be any freebees from now on.”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Fine.” The changeling smirked before draining the rest of the wine. On cue Derek guided her with a hand on her cheek and leaned down.

 

“Stop them!”

 

“On it! Derek!” Stiles shouted as he bolted forward. The several fairies cleared a path for the reckless human who was swinging his staff around as he ran. Stiles forced himself between the changeling and Derek and shoved them apart. Well, the changeling moved back, but Derek didn’t budge and looked at Stiles in shock. “Keep those lips to yourself, sister, until you get some gum or mouthwash or something.” He turned to Derek.

 

“And you!” Stiles said. “She was drinking wine you idiot! If even a drop of that stuff touches your tongue, even second hand, you’re stuck here! I thought you knew that.”

 

The changeling gasped and looked horribly embarrassed. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like _that_!” She blushed harder. “I wasn’t asking for a full on French version, but he’s right. If I had been drinking water, it would have been fine, but oh-my-gods! I’m sorry! I don’t drink that often…at all…unless I’m with friends…I’m sorry.”

 

The changeling did look properly ashamed of herself so Stiles relaxed. Derek raised an eyebrow. “Is the deal still on then?”

 

“I… could use some water…” the changeling admitted still flushed.

 

“Excuse me,” a waitress appeared with a yellow card in her hand. She picked up the fallen glass were a single drop had fallen and looked at the changeling clearly miffed. “It’s against the current rule to spill any beverages at this time. We are trying to clean! Couldn’t you have waited five minutes?”

 

“I’m sorry,” the changeling bowed. “It won’t happen again.”

 

“You get one warning,” the waitress said before turning to Stiles. “You are also responsible for the ‘party foul’. Here is your fine.” She held up the card for Stiles to see.

 

“Fuck.” Stiles said as the pack approached. The waitress quickly stowed the card.

 

“What did it say?” Scott asked.

 

“I can’t tell you.” Stiles looked on the verge of panicking. “I-I don’t think I can do it.”

 

“It’s fine, Stiles.” Scott reassured him. “They’re just dumb stunts. You can do this stuff in your sleep.”

 

“No, Scott, really-“

 

“Just do it.”

 

Stiles pinched his nose and looking contrite said, “I let one rip. Sorry.”

 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth Stiles face turned an alarming red shade and the look on everyone’s face was just oh, so, too much, funny. Stiles threw his hands over his mouth and tried so hard not to, but he couldn’t help it. This was it. Fairies really were evil bastards. They lure you in with a false sense of security and then pull the rug out from under you.

 

One giggle, that was all he let loose and it was far too much. A drop of wine and a giggle had sealed his fate. The waitress read the card out loud now that Stiles had failed the task.

 

“This task is classified. It can only be read once the task is completed. Pinch your nose and say the phrase, ‘I let one rip, sorry,’ with out laughing. If you or anyone laughs you must pay the penalty.”

 

“Stiles?”

The pack reached out to him. They held on to him with all their strength, but when the card turned red the human vanished and they were left with empty air.

 

And Stiles was gone.

 

“More ‘s the pity,” the changeling whispered despairingly.


	4. Oubliette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta-reader so there might probably be a few grammar errors left over because my internet source only works between 1-3AM. Enjoy!

 Stiles opened his eyes and saw darkness, solid black and unending. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, but still the world did not change. There was only black on black, cold and silent. He tried to call for Scott, but his breath caught in his throat and he couldn’t breathe.

 

No, that wasn’t right. He could breathe, but it was coming too quickly. He was hyperventilating. Stiles realized he was having a panic attack and there was no one around to talk him through it, just the black, endless black.

 

A wave of dizziness made Stiles fall backwards against the stone floor. A hot flash of pain bloomed his on head and shot through his body. The shock of the pain made his panic worse. Stiles stared up into black, solid black. He clutched his chest and with absolute certainly knew he was going to die.

 

“One…two…three…four…” a calm tenor voice counted patiently like they had all the time in the world. It was hard for Stiles to hear the voice over the static of his mind and the thundering of his heart.

 “Five…six…seven…eight…” And again, “One…two…three…four…” The voice paused then added. “Five…six…seven…eight…”

 

“One…two…three…four…” the voice repeated patiently then paused.

 

Stiles gasped for air. He wasn’t alone. Someone was there with him in the dark and they were not afraid.

 

Stiles answered weakly, “Five…six…seven…eight…”

 

“Two…two…three…four…five...six…seven…eight…” the voice prompted.

 

Stiles’s face scrunched in confusion.

 

“Three…three…three…four…five…six…seven…eight…” the voice continued.

 

 _Oh_ , Stiles understood and answered, “Four…four…four…four…five…six…seven…eight…”

 

The pair went back and fourth until Stiles said “eight” eight times in a row and then the pair counted down from eight eights then seven sevens and an eight and so on. When they finished the voice asked, “Are you feeling better now?”

 

“Yes,” Stiles sighed in relief. He stood up and tried to feel around him for anything. “Where are you? Where are we?”

 

“We’re in the _oubliette_.” The voice said cheerfully. “It’s the part of the labyrinth where they like to stick the undesirables _._ ”

 

“I have two problems with that statement.” Stiles said with his arms crossed. “First of all, what labyrinth? And secondly who are you calling ‘undesirable’?”

 

“Well, _I’m_ still getting over the shock of the massive population explosion down here.” The voice said. “I’m going to have to speak with my realtor. The population just doubled over night. I might as well sell the place and look for something with more privacy.”

 

Stiles shuffled his feet and ended up tripping over his staff. Sore, but elated he hugged the smooth warm wood to his chest. Then he concentrated on figuratively ‘letting his little light shine’ by humming a few soothing bars of the alluded song. The hidden runes on the staff glowed soft green. With the addition of light Stiles began walking around his prison trying to find the source of the voice.

 

“See?” the voice said. “New people move in and we already have light pollution. I bet you’d call it ‘progress’, now wouldn’t you?” Stiles chuckled in response to his prison mate’s snippy tone.

 

“Hey, I’m all for taking my leave, dude.” Stiles asked the voice, “What are you in for?”

 

“I’m not exactly popular with the right people.” The voice lamented. “You know how it goes. I’m the oldest, but mummy liked my younger sister better.”

 

Stiles winced in sympathy. “I’m an only child, but that’s harsh.”

 

“True story,” the fairy said. “I’m my father’s favorite son, but I am not my mother’s favorite. My father married into _her_ family so mother is the one to decide her heir. Her heir was the one who will receive all things my mother acquired before her marriage which is quite a lot, actually, including a ticket into monarchy.” The voice sighed. “All that needless drama just because somebody died and that makes her the queen and whatever she says goes.”

 

“Hold up,” Stiles said. He was still looking around the room, but didn’t see anybody. “You’re a literal fairy prince?”

 

 “She chose my younger sister and I agree that choice is the best one.” The voice said with an audible shrug to his tone. “I am not able to continue the bloodline like she.”

 

“I’ve heard fertility is a touchy subject,” Stiles said quietly. He was fairly certain he had walked along the entire parameter of the room and still the human hadn’t located his mystery companion. Stiles decided to search the room in a grid pattern next.

 

“Oh, all the plumbing works just fine,” the fairy said conversationally. “I’ve just never had a strong inclination to be intimate with anyone. Sex in my opinion is a very dull subject.”He paused then added, “I like reading about true love and lost lovers reunited and soul-mates and passionate young love. It’s just after all that build up the real thing is just sort of a let down, you know?”

 

Stiles finally reached the very center of the room were a square hole was situated. It looked just barely large enough for a person to pass through and he couldn’t tell how deep the drop was. It was definitely the source of the voice, though.

 

“You’re saying you’ve never been in love?” Stiles asked as he leaned forward over the hole. “How old are you?”

 

“Age is not but a number,” the voice replied. “Time is an illusion. He that is twelve but has the experience of fifty is neither fifty nor twelve.”

 

The fairy rambled on. “But if you must know, I am old enough to remember the sunshine and the little spot of land my family owned before being sent to the underground. Frankly I prefer the labyrinth.”

 

“The labyrinth.” Stiles repeated.

 

“More accurately, it’s referred to as a ‘prayer maze’,” the fairy told him. “Those who break the rules are sent here to think about their actions. Few return here after completing their sentence so I can only assume it’s quite effective as a punishment.”

 

“So it _is_ a maze.” Stiles grumbled.

 

“Ah,” the fairy interjected, “but the point of this maze is to get lost so that you may find yourself.” The fairy explained. “The more lost you are the more challenging the maze.”

 

“How long would it take to solve it?”

 

“Not long,” the fairy assured him. “It’s only a twenty day jaunt.”

 

“TWENTY?!”

 

“Is there a problem?”the fairy asked confused.

 

“I’m not a changeling!” Stiles shouted. “I’m human and I need to get back to my friends!”

 

“Oh,” the fairy said. He thought about the information carefully then the fairy said, “Well I suppose we can make an exception.”

 

A head popped out of the hole and was soon followed by a slender and very _naked_ body. Despite claims of fairies being essentially timeless, the fairy looked more like an old man than a young one. The fairy’s skin was wrinkled free, but hardened by the trials of life. His hair was completely white. His was skin far too pale in the absence of sunlight and his form was far too thin and almost skeletal. There were bags under the fairy’s eyes that looked like he had both slept too long and not long enough. It was a depressing sight in Stiles’s opinion.

 

“I’m sure I wrote in some exceptions incase there was a mistake,” the fairy assured him. “We just need to check the books. Come along.”

 

The fairy led Stiles to a hidden passage that lead out of the oubliette and into a crawl space. He let Stiles crawl through first so the human wouldn’t be forced to stare at the fairy’s too-bony hips and backside the whole time. Behind him Stiles could hear the fairy complain about the discomfort the stone caused his hands and knees, but thankfully the fairy did so quietly. Stiles suspected that the fairy had been sleeping in the stone prison for a long time, alone in the darkness waiting for either death or the end of the world whichever came first.

 

“So,” Stiles inquired when they could finally stand up. “What do crazy rules have to do with a labyrinth?”

There wasn’t a single light to be found and if it wasn’t for the staff or the fairy Stiles would have likely died in less than three days in the dark passages alone. The harsh realization of his narrow escape sent a shiver through him.

 

The fairy was seemingly oblivious to the human’s discomfort and explained, “The music rooms were built first. I liked music and I wasn’t the only one who wanted spaces where it would be played freely and where people could dance and be happy even in banishment.”

 

Stiles asked, “Who made up those weird rules?”

 

The fairy replied, “I went through several weird phases as an artist.”

 

“ _You_ did?!” Stiles asked in shock. “Why make people do those silly stunts?”

 

“Last I heard my sister’s daughter had become queen of the Seelie Court,” the fairy replied. “My sister had a sense of humor at least, but her daughter and her court wouldn’t be caught dead doing those kinds of things like make fart jokes or make fools of themselves.” The fairy’s face grew serious. “I just grew tired of it. All of it. I wanted to be alone with my books so I built the library at the center and then built the maze to keep others away. I would read until I fell asleep. Eventually all I wanted to do was sleep so I built the oubliette in the hopes that I would be forgotten.”

 

“All this just to keep your family away?”

 

“Indeed,” the fairy admitted.

 

“Why? Are they really that bad?”

 

“No, actually like most people if they are left alone and unpressured they are really quite pleasant.” The fairy told him. “My mother just didn’t know how to be happy. Puppies, kittens, hugs, games, fine food, many _obedient_ children, a devoted husband, and still she did not know of happiness. It’s hard to live with those kinds of people. It was hard to live when I realized I became that kind of person. When I realized no food, no drink, no passion could fill the void she had created in me I stopped trying to feel altogether.”

 

“Why are you helping me?”

 

The fairy yawned and rubbed his eyes sleepily, “This will be the first errand I’ve run in decades. Anything to get the blood flowing, I guess.” The fairy shrugged and added, “Quite frankly, I didn’t really see a reason _not_ to.”

 

* * *

 

 

Scott stared for a moment at the empty space where his best friend once stood before turning to the changeling that had tempted Derek. The alpha took a deep breath and his eyes flashed red with anger and grief. A low growl resounded in his throat as he asked, “Where did they take Stiles? Where is he?”

 

The changeling took a step back. “I don’t know.” She replied quietly. “No one breaks the rules. We _can’t_! Only the labyrinth king would know. ”

 

All around them the other fairies quickly dispersed. The only reason the changeling hadn’t fled was because the werewolves surrounded her.

 

“You must know something,” Erica pointed out with a snarl.

 

“I don’t know where the labyrinth is!” The changeling insisted. “If you break a rule you can find him yourself.”

 

“No!” Miss Yang barked sharply. She looked at each of the impulsive teenagers in turn. “If you go in blind you stand a chance to lose everything. If you want to save Stiles you will only do so by thinking and coming up with a plan. This isn’t the time to be reckless.”

 

“How would you know?” Erica demanded. “Why can’t we just follow him?”

 

“How soon we forget.” Miss Yang sighed. “Do you remember my house? Do you recall all the time you wasted checking the upstairs rooms? That’s what happens when you rush in.” She crossed her arm. “The side door led right to the kitchen where myself and Yukimura-san were. Did you learn nothing from that experience?”

 

“Okay,” Scott agreed. “We’ll do it your way.”

 

“Thank you.” Miss Yang nodded to the alpha. “And it’s not ‘my way’ I’m asking for. All I want is you to stop and think. Luck will only get you so far. Think! Use the resources on hand.”

 

The teenagers looked around.

 

“What do we have?” Isaac asked. “It’s a club. Nobody here is going to help us.”

 

“Actually they will,” Derek said.

 

He grabbed the changeling roughly by the arm and planted a kiss on her lips. He was careful to avoid the inside of her mouth and just licked her bottom lip where the wine hadn’t touched. When the act was done the werewolf stepped back and flashed his eyes at her threateningly.

 

“Now you owe me three answers,” Derek told the changeling. “First of all, how do we save Stiles and how do we get out of here.”

 

The changeling blinked away her shock before here eyes focused on Derek. The woman frowned and answered, “For both, I can take you to the Seelie Queen.”

 

“Uh, no. Is there an option b?” Miss Yang asked with a wince. “The bright court is not my favorite. Really, I would prefer the other guys. I owe them fewer…debts.”

 

The pack turned to stare at the monkey shifter.

 

“Debts?” Lydia repeated. “How?”

 

“You think I live in a camper because it’s so retro?” Miss Yang countered. “Granted kidnapping Yukimura-san is the worst thing I’ve done, it is by no means the _only_ shit I’ve got myself into.”

 

“The bright court,” Lydia clarified. “You owe a debt to one of the most powerful groups of fair folk and you didn’t think to tell us?”

 

“I knew the club was above a fairy hill.” Miss Yang shifted anxiously. “And really the only way to find that out is the hard way. I got out the last time because I offered my services.”

 

The changeling looked slightly scandalized by this declaration. “You serviced the Seelie Queen?”

 

“If you seen her you already know the answer to that question.” Miss Yang replied dryly. “That woman is a beauty.”

 

“So on a scale from one to ten,” Isaac interjected. “Because of your ‘debt’ how fucked are we?”

 

“If Stiles were here,” Scott said with a smile. “I think he’d say we were ‘royally fucked’.” The pack was not amused by the observation, but they nodded in agreement.

 

Miss Yang snorted. “Kids, I wish that was still an option. Somehow I don’t think it is.”

 

Scott turned back to the changeling, “What will happen if we meet the Seelie Queen. Is it really the only way to save Stiles?”

 

The changeling shrugged. “If anyone knows where the labyrinth king is, it is the Queens. But I’ll only lead you safely to the Seelie territory. It’s the court I belong to.”

 

“Lead on,” Scott told her. “We’ll think of something.”

 

* * *

 

 

In the library Stiles was able to find and light a few candles. The library was a quarter mile long circular hallway located at the center of the labyrinth. Books and scrolls lined every shelf in a Tetris configuration. Stiles was about to comment on the place when he finally got a good look at his fairy host. Stiles gasped when he realized that the fairy’s eyes were tainted with a milky sheen.

 

“You’re _blind_?”

 

“I haven’t used my sight in a long, long time human.” The fairy caressed the shelved documents with one hand. “And the laws of my people have not changed since long before that. The last law put in effect by the monarchy was our banishment underground. Before my self-imposed exile, out of spite I took with me the _cipher key_ that allows word to become law. That is why I can make silly new laws that my guests must obey while my sister’s court is stuck in their old fashioned propriety.”

 

“Wait,” Stiles studied the fairy’s amused face. “You’re saying the fair folk are stuck underground and can’t even renegotiate the terms of their banishment because _you_ , the professional recluse, have the ‘key’ to change the laws? Nobody else can do it?”

 

The fairy’s wicked chuckle was answer enough.

 

“If your niece asked for this ‘key’,” Stiles asked, “Would you give it to her?”

 

“I would give it to anyone who asked,” the fairy replied. He was still stroking the documents one by one, searching by touch for the one he needed. “Well, anyone who braved my labyrinth. It’s stupidly easy to solve if you start at the beginning because there is only one way to go from there.”

 

The fairy pulled out a document and thrust it in Stile’s general direction. On the page was a drawing shaped like a leaf made out of a single line. Stiles traced the line with his finger and saw that there were no branches or confusing turns. It was a single path that looped around itself leading to the center.

 

“It’s when people are dropped in the middle,” the fairy continued, “that they panic because then you have two ways to go. One way leads to the beginning and the other leads to my library.”

 

“Oh my god,” Stiles gasped. He realized he had a golden opportunity to gain numerous and powerful allies. If he had control over the fair folk’s laws he could draw up a treaty with them. The pack could have an army at their disposal and Gerard would finally be outmatched.

 

Stiles took a breath to steady himself before asking, “If I asked, would you give the key to _me_?”

 

The fairy paused in his search to think about it. “Yes.”

 

Stiles sensed there was an addendum to that statement. “But-?” He prompted.

 

“Humans can’t use the key.” The fairy told him. “Not even one with the spark, like you. You would have to know our language in order to use the key.”

 

Stiles felt a little crestfallen, but he had expected as much. He didn’t even trust easy answers on high school exams. Magical fairy solutions to solving all the world’s problems? Yeah, that was never going to happen. The human sighed at his own stupidity.

 

“So the professional recluse wins.” Stiles muttered.

 

The fairy chuckled again. Each time the laugh sounded a little less broken from disuse. He said, “Your staff is quite interesting. Was it made by one of my people?”

 

Stiles shrugged even though the fairy couldn’t see him do it. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I got it from a descendent of Myrddin, Merlin, supposedly. She said it was a replica, but I don’t know of what. Was Excalibur really a staff?”

 

“The Arthur’s is a story that has evolved greatly over time.” The fairy told him, “It wasn’t a battle of good and evil. It was a battle between the Word and the Void. The void is emptiness. No food, no drink, no earthly pleasure can fill it.”

 

“And the word?”

 

“The word is ‘love’, my young friend.” The fairy sighed. “It is not lust for the flesh. It is a completing of a soul. Our souls are not matched with one person, but with many. There are no perfect halves. We are drops of rain falling through life. It is cyclic and unending. Death is not an end, but a beginning. The void is forgetfulness. We forget our place in the cycle. We forget we are not alone and we forget that we are part of the whole. The word is a reminder. The word doesn’t fill the void. It reminds us that the void is an illusion. Hunger is an illusion. Our perception is an illusion. It is light tricking the brain.”

 

“What did the original staffs do?” Stiles asked.

 

“They were tools created to fight demons.” The fairy shook his head like he didn’t know for sure. “I suspect your staff is different. What do the runes say?”

 

“You can see the runes?” Stiles asked.

 

“No, but I can guess.” The fairy held out his hand. “Show me.”

 

Stiles swallowed. He set the candle down so he could hold the staff in his left hand and trace what he saw on the fairy’s outstretched hand. Thankfully the runes weren’t difficult, but Stiles had no idea where to start. He picked a random one and began from there. He traced the first line on the fairy’s hand.

 

“That’s not right,” the fairy told him. “Follow the lines down and to the left, not right and across. It’s not English, silly boy.”

 

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbled. He tried again.

 

After the first line he paused and the fairy nodded for him to keep going. Stiles took a breath and forced himself to concentrate. It was difficult without the aid of his medication that he had neglected to take in recent history. He couldn’t be sure how long he had been underground. He hoped it wasn’t too long. His dad had enough worries and as strong as Mr. Stilinski was, he probably wouldn’t survive the loss of his son a second time.

 

“Well?” Stiles prompted when he had finished tracing.

 

The fairy drew back his hand and went back to blindly scanning the shelves. “It’s the story of how the staff was made,” he said finally. “It is carved from a sacred tree tended completely by hand and by prayer. It’s a replica in appearance only.”

 

“What does that mean?” The human groaned. “Why is it important to know how the staff was made?”

 

“I will tell you and then you can decide.”

 

Stiles waited as the fairy explained:

 

It began with the seed. The seed was a gift of friendship. The seed was one of eight. They slumbered for many years in the safety of the letter that had delivered them and the pages of the book. They were hidden but never forgotten. The seed keeper’s life was unstable and filled with unhappiness. Like a mother waiting and searching for the right nest to bear her young, the seed keeper waited until the time was right. First the soil was made. The seed keeper consumed no red meat or dairy. A little of every meal was set aside as compost. After a few years the soil was ready and the seed could be planted.

 

“Do you know where trees come from?” the fairy asked.

 

“Out of the ground?” Stiles had a feeling it was a trick question.

 

“No, the _air_. Trees grow because of air and light. It’s a miracle not lost to the druids. I admire the druids,” The fairy reminisced. “You’re not a druid though.  Nor are you a witch, a mage, or wizard. Do you know the differences?”

 

“They are subclasses of how people channel their magic.” Stiles replied knowingly. He had studied this in depth trying to understand why he couldn’t use magic. His alternate self, the one born to this universe, could use magic, but somehow the mystic arts eluded him. “Druids use plants, witches use familiars that are usually animals, mages use elements, and wizards use artifacts kind of like witches and mages combined. So, what does the staff make me?”

 

“The staff doesn’t make you anything.” The fairy said. “You make the staff what it is.”

 

He explained that the tree grew for decades. It wasn’t just a tree. It was treated like a religious alter, a child, and a god. It was the seed keeper’s most precious object. Only love, prayers and kind words were whispered in its presence. The tree had, but one purpose- to look to the light and grow.

 

One day the seed keeper was visited by a craftsman looking to fulfill a commission for a dear friend. To do this they needed a branch from the tree.

 

“I bet that went over well.” Stiles muttered.

 

“Actually, it was no trouble at all.” The fairy explained. “Tree’s are expected to lose a couple limbs to nature and the elements. Trimming affects the over all health of the tree. Thus a limb was cut under the blue moon and washed in virgin tears.”

 

“Are you serious?” Stiles drawled.

 

“Quite,” the fairy replied. “Although I’m not sure why they used virgin tears. It’s actually a myth that virginity grants spells an extra power boost. Although according to dragons virgins taste better than those who are not. I think it’s the placebo affect myself. Anyway, the staff is a powerful talisman. Does it feel warm to your touch?”

 

“Yes, it’s very comforting.”

 

“Good, so have you decided what kind of magic user you are supposed to be?”

 

Stiles spoke hesitantly. “Kinda? I took an online quiz.” His expression turned sheepish. “It’s said I was a priest. I thought it made sense with the whole god thing we have going on.”

 

“Ah, and so you don’t understand the functions of a priest.” The fairy realized. “That is a hard journey.”

 

“The one who gave me the staff said I was a trickster.” Stiles said. “I agree on some level, but it seems like the opposite of what a priest does. Should I be preaching every Sunday to the pack or something?”

 

The fairy laughed. “No that’s not-“

 

The fairy stopped talking as his hand stalled and hovered over the shelf. A satisfied smirk bloomed on the fairy’s face. “Here it is. As much as I have enjoyed our conversation there are more important things at hand.” He said and removed a scroll from its hiding place.

 

The fairy’s hands stroked the paper not to read it, but to remember what had been written there by his hand. “I knew I put in a clause of disproportionate retribution. So to make the punishment equitable I can lower your sentence to ninety hours.”

 

“I can’t stay here for ninety hours,” Stiles insisted. “I need to find the rest of my pack.”

 

“I’m afraid that was the simple solution,” the fairy shrugged and chuckled this time without humor. “Without my eyes, it will be hard for us to look for loopholes. The art of weaseling around lines of law is not a strong suit of mine. It eludes me like many art forms- painting, songs, poetry, war… Things my people are known for.”

 

“Jesus, glad to see exile hasn’t done a number on your sunny disposition.” Stiles muttered. “I’m sure the answer is here, _somewhere_. We just have a little research to do and –hey!- I’m a rockstar at research.”

 

“You do realize that all these documents are in ancient writing predating your species earliest cognitive sentences?” the fairy asked.

 

“See, that right there is not a winning attitude.”

 

* * *

 

The word “fairy” poorly conveyed the wide array of species that that retreated after relinquishing the surface world to humanity.

 

Derek knew all too well what humans were capable of. He was faster, stronger, more impervious than any single human, but humanity still maintained a clear advantage over his kind. Humans were greater than their supernatural peers in sheer numbers. For every supernatural in the world there were ten humans. As the changeling had less than kindly pointed out, Derek was far more human than not. As a shifter he had two faces, but in retrospect the wolf was probably the easier of his two sides to control.

 

Derek forced his body to take deep even breaths. He shook the blood off his claws in a way akin to a samurai clearing his sword of blood. When he was convinced the fairy creature would not raise again, Derek turned a challenging gaze up towards the proudly seated Queen of the Seelie fairies.

 

The fairy courtiers were abuzz with whispers and brushing wings. The werewolf could hear their impressed mummers in their ancient languages. They had every right to be impressed because the dead fairy at his feet was the thirtieth challenger to face Derek in a duel.

 

The rest of the pack stood caged off to the side of the ring waiting patiently for their chance at execution. Scott growled heatedly as he sensed Derek growing tired duel after duel. Derek was still their best fighter and if he fell the rest of the pack didn’t stand a chance. Derek had stepped up against Scott’s wishes, but there was no need for the true alpha to kill if Derek could do it for him. Derek would do that Scott that favor. Scott wasn’t a killer, he was a life bringer. Scott always found a way to peace and he would have if these damn fairies had let him.  

 

The harshest blow to the pack was the sight of Miss Yang perched on the arm of the queen’s throne. Since the monkey shifter wasn’t really pack, Miss Yang had felt a greater incentive to save her own skin by charming her way back into the court’s good graces. Apparently there was a vacancy for someone of her ‘special talents’.

 

Derek watched the monkey woman respond to the queen’s affectionate caresses. The monkey shifter replied with an audible purr to the attention. Derek growled in disgust at the sight of their once ally behaving in a manner befitting a pet, not a warrior. Worse, Derek wasn’t confident that the pack would be able to trust anyone after such a malevolent betrayal. Derek ignored Scott’s whispers from the sidelines that it was probably just a ploy, a stall tactic. Derek knew it wasn’t. He could smell the monkey’s amusement even over the strong smell of blood and death.

 

Everything was in the Seelie Queen’s favor. After their very much one-sided negotiations had failed the pack was given the “great honor” of being the night’s entertainment. The court’s apathy towards human (and werewolf, kitsune, and banshee) life was palpable. The queen held no qualms about putting the pack at a disadvantage by instating a mano e mano system of fighting, something that had been Miss Yang’s suggestion. As each duel ended it was obvious the queen was growing bored and was probably contemplating just killing the uplanders.

 

The queen yawned. “Is there no one in my court who can best this man?” She eyed her subjects disdainfully before turning her attention back to the pack. “Clearly I am understaffed,” she drawled. “I am willing to make you all the same offer I granted your companion.” She stroked the monkey woman’s face. “All I ask is that you offer absolute loyalty to me.”

 

“No.” Derek said firmly. He looked towards Scott who looked torn between what might be better for the survival of the pack, but the alpha nodded his compliance. The fairies could not be trusted with the pack’s safety and Derek could still fight.

 

“Very well,” the queen waved a hand and ordered, “Next challenger.”

 

Derek shifted into a defensive position. The fairy’s murmured, but none stepped forward. Eventually, after harsh looks from the queen, the fairies parted to let a volunteer through. Derek nearly slumped in relief. The werewolve’s other adversaries had been soldiers and seasoned fighters. The fairy that faced him now looked like he was just a breeze away from keeling over all on his own. The older creature looked barely more than skin and bones. Unlike the fineries of the courtly figures that looked down on them from on high, the fairy was dressed in the simplest linen pants and tunic. The fairy’s only accessories were a rope belt and woven slippers on his feet.

 

“Is this a joke?” the fairy queen demanded to know.

 

The older fairy smiled relaxed as if he were lounging on a beach and not stepping into a battle with a werewolf. He replied to the queen without taking his milky white eyes off Derek. “The only think amusing in all this, your majesty, is that you would so easily let a demon slip into your court.”

 

The fairies of the court chuckled at the response, but Derek had the oddest feeling that the fairy wasn’t referring to him. He breathed the air trying to gain some understanding about the intentions of the fairy in front of him. His eyes widened as he caught a familiar scent before he resumed glaring at the newcomer.

 

“Explain yourself, subject.” The Seelie Queen stood up and walked to the overlooking balcony to try and get a better look at the challenger. “Wait,” she noted, “You’re not of my court.”

 

“Ah,” the fairy continued to smile. “You don’t treat my wounds, you don’t sing my songs, I owe your majesty no oaths, but we still share the same blood, I’m afraid. Such a pity really.”

 

The queen gasped and stepped back, “Who?”

 

“There is one whom I share a song with,” the fairy was speaking to Derek now. “Quite the interesting fellow. Friend of yours perhaps.”

 

A shriek drew the court’s attention to the queen’s throne where the aforementioned friend had Miss Yang pinned with his black staff. The staff was glowing and causing the monkey-shifter’s clothes to smolder and the shifter to reveal her true nature. The monkey woman lost control of her human form and settled back into her truest being, a gold colored gibbon with shining red eyes. The members of the court scattered and gasped as one. The Seelie Queen narrowed her eyes as she read the markings on the staff.

 

“Who carved those markings?” The queen asked. “That weapon was crafted with fairy magic. Who gave it to you?”

 

“It’s not a weapon, your majesty.” Stiles corrected. He tapped the butt of his staff against Miss Yang’s hip as a wordless command to stand at attention. The shifter obeyed and held her hands out peacefully. Stiles smiled triumphantly. “It’s a shield.”

 

“A shield,” the queen repeated doubtfully.

 

“Before your time, I’m afraid.” The fairy in the ring told her. “And our family was never involved in that dispute for obvious reasons.”

 

“I thought only humans could become new-demons,” Stiles asked the monkey shifter. “Why do you serve the Void?”

 

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with, boy.” Miss Yang warned. “And I serve _no one_ and I certainly don’t serve the Void.”

 

“But you know who they are.” Stiles noted. “You actually weren’t affected by the minus wave, were you. You wanted Kira because she’s a thunder kitsune. You wanted to sell her out. Is Gerard a demon too?”

 

“Would that make it easier for you?” Miss Yang taunted. “If he was a demon then you can go back to your little chess match. Purify the demon with your little staff all will be well? That’s what you’re hoping for isn’t it?” She smirked. “I don’t think I will tell you and there is nothing you can do to make me.”

 

Stiles huffed and shoved the monkey shifter over the balcony and into the ring. She landed gracefully on her feet. The monkey chuckled and looked at the blind fairy thoughtfully. “You’re wrong about my nature, your highness.”

 

“Yes, I can see that now.” The fairy nodded. “Isn’t it beneath you to meddle in such affairs?”

 

“I should ask the same of you.” Miss Yang countered.

 

“I like the human,” the fairy replied simply. “I think you could relate to that.”

 

“Hmmm, he’s not my favorite.” Miss Yang admitted as she wiggled her eyebrows. “You’re not here to fight Derek. Are you perhaps here to defend your niece’s honor?”

 

“If I ask you to leave this court, would you do so peacefully?” the fairy asked.

 

“Let the alpha go and I’ll consider it.”

 

The fairy’s expression turned quizzical. “Just the alpha?”

 

“I don’t care about the others-“ Miss Yang paused for a moment. “Well, I would like the kitsune released too. It’s not often I play matchmaker, but I’m sure I can find another worthy female.”

 

“Stiles,” Derek hissed as the human moved to his side. “What’s-“ he stopped when Stiles wrapped the werewolf up in a bear hug. Derek resisted the urge to shove him off, but only just barely.

 

“It’s okay,” Stiles said in Derek’s ear so he wouldn’t be over heard. “Phil’s going to get us out of here.”

 

“Phil?”

 

“Eccentric blind old fairy dude.”

 

“Okay, and why are you hugging me?” Derek sniffed the teenager carefully just to check. Derek winced as the smell overpowered his delicate nose. Yup, it was the real Stiles and the kid really needed to change his socks.

 

“Awkward I know,” Stiles sighed and released the beta. “I’ll explain later. It involves the whole pack.”

 

“You hugging me ‘involves the whole pack’?”

 

“I said I would explain later!”

 

A hush fell over the room as the Seelie Queen hissed and demanded explanations from all parties. The older fairy, Phil apparently, dismissed his niece’s outburst with a wave of his hand. When she refused to be silence he opened his mouth and was cut off by a Miss Yang.

 

“Reveal my true nature and I will kill everyone here.” She warned. “ _Everyone_.”

 

“Even your precious alpha?”

 

“From your lips to the gods’ ears,” Miss Yang retorted. “At least I would be merciful.”

 

“You heard her,” Phil told the queen. “And don’t think she won’t make good on her promise. Have the others consumed anything?”

 

It was the changeling from before who spoke up. “They are clean,” she said. “I will take them to the surface. I want to see the world I’ve missed.”

 

“Are you sure?” Phil scrutinized the changeling’s demeanor. “Once the sunlight touches you, the illusion will be broken and your double will be forced to return to her true parents.”

 

“I am certain.” She spoke determinedly.

 

“That’s it?” Stiles asked hopefully. “We can go?”

 

“Well your associate did win thirty duels.” Phil acknowledged. “Well, thirty one. I bruise like a peach and he fights using some bastardized form of capoeira.” Phil turned back to Miss Yang. “Is that amendable? Perhaps I can convince you to stay for dinner before your departure? You’re not planning on going back with the young ones, I take it.”

 

“I’ll try to stave off my blood lust for one meal.” Miss Yang nodded at the court with her arms crossed. “You’re niece is cute, but not that cute. Now that I don’t have to pretend fragility I expect actually _accommodations_ for someone worthy of my station.”

 

“I agree,” Phil nodded eagerly. “I apologize for any rudeness. You mind waiting in the parlor while welcome gifts are assembled?”

 

“Gifts?” the queen asked confused. A stern look from her uncle silenced her.

 

“I suggest you spare no expense appeasing her, my beloved sister’s daughter. Blood loyalties will only protect you so far.” Phil turned back to the monkey woman. “Speaking of- I understand you’re… keeping this under the radar? I have to leave my labyrinth for a month or two. Perhaps my library will be worth your preview?”

 

“I doubt it,” Miss Yang told him. “But solving your prayer maze might be worth the vacation. We can discuss the details over dinner.” Then without further comment the monkey woman vanished like she hadn’t even been there. The Seelie Queen ushered out her subjects to follow her uncle’s advice. She would find out the nature of their cryptic guest sometime later.

 

“Um,” Stiles said awkwardly. Phil walked over to where the pack was detained and released them. The werewolves spared him a few growls and baleful glares before rushing over to scent Stiles and check him for injuries. Obviously the human was fine except for being very hungry from his ordeal.

 

“A parting word of advice?” Phil offered with an easy and almost predatory smile. Stiles knew he couldn’t refuse so he nodded and the fairy’s smile grew darker.

 

 “In the eyes of a few, your enemies are merely children,” the fairy warned.

 

Derek growled in response to the fairy’s threat and the other betas bristled as well. Scott and the rest of the group just looked nervous and were more relived by the return of their friend than anything. Stiles looked thoughtful. The message was cryptic and ambiguous, meaning the fairy was probably just yanking their chain. Somewhere down the line there would be a big “Ah ha!” moment when it would ‘all suddenly make sense’, but Stiles knew the wisest course of action was not to take the message too seriously. He just nodded in gratitude and turned so the changeling could lead them back to the surface.

 

As the changeling lead the pack to the human world Scott kept close to his friend. Stiles regaled his friends with the story of his meeting with Phil and the labyrinth.

 

“Phil’s not his real name,” Stiles explained. “Names are important to fairies and nobody’s call him by his name in so long he just asked me to give him a nickname.”

 

“And you decided and ‘Phil’?” Erica asked dubiously.

 

“I don’t know,” Kira said. “He does kind of look like a Phil.”

 

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” Scott patted Stiles on the back. “You practically saved us.”

 

“I did, didn’t I?” Stiles grinned. A serious thought struck him, “Hey the way Miss Yang talked… Do you think she’s the second god? She seemed to take a shine to you Scott and she’s been obvious about her preferences.”

 

Scott shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe? Why go though all that trouble though?”

 

“Do we ever really know what a trickster is thinking?” Stiles pointed out. “But hey! That means we’ve met two out of the three.”

 

“Do you know what yours is like?”

 

“No idea, but they have a calling card.” Stiles reached into his pocket and pulled out an orange flower. “Look familiar?”

 

“Yes,” Scott said taking the flower. “Poor-man’s-weather-glass.”

 

“What does it mean?” Isaac asked staring at the flower curiously.

 

“No idea.” Stiles took the flower back from Scott and put it in his pocket. He caught sight of Derek off to the side looking like his usual sulky self. “Oh,” Stiles remembered. “I’ll need to tell your mom and my dad too, but there was a condition Phil gave me so I could leave the labyrinth.”

 

The pack listened intently as Stiles explained the special rule that had been placed upon him. “It’s a loop hole that Phil added incase he ever needed a vacation or something. So while Phil isn’t in the labyrinth I can have an alternative sentence. For twenty days I have to embrace the first pack member I see every day.”

 

“That’s it?” Isaac asked incredulously. “Hugs?”

 

“Yup. Everyday.” Stiles told them. “I told you Phil was a pretty good guy. The thing is, though, if I forget even once then I get sent back to the labyrinth and if that happens I’ll be stuck for good. And it has to be the first pack member I see first. If I go out of order it’s the same as forgetting.”

 

The pack looked slightly more nervous by this development.   

 

“So, now we need to decide if Kira is an official member.” Stiles grinned at the kitsune.

 

“Of course,” Scott insisted while putting his arm around Kira’s shoulders. “But we’re still down one person. Miss Yang would have been very useful against Gerard.”

 

Stiles ran through the latest events in his head against what he knew about tricksters. Hopefully Miss Yang had left them a clue. The RV maybe?

 

“We still have the trouble magnet curse. I’m cursed to give free hugs.” Stiles muttered. “Obviously we’re not ready to face Gerard yet, but what if… how many extra beds do we have in the RV now?”

 

“Three,” Derek answered. “Wait. You think that means something.”

 

“Three has proven to be a very important number.” Stiles agreed.  “What if that’s the message? What if that was her plan all along? What if we’re waiting for three pack members?”

 

“How will we find them?” Scott asked.

 

The changeling interrupted their conversation and led them to a door. “This is it,” she told them as she held open the door. The pack blinked against the harsh light of the California afternoon sun. The door had led them to a park not far from the club. Stiles gave a sigh of relief after he checked his phone. Not even a day had passed. He had several missed calls from his dad so he dialed and placed the phone to his ear.

 

“Fairies, dad.” Stiles interjected before his dad could begin his tirade. “I’m fine, everyone’s fine. We’re heading back now.”

 

“Hey, are you okay?” Kira asked cautiously. The changeling had followed them into the light and she was staring at her hands mystified.

 

“It’s so beautiful.” The changeling looked around. “It’s so bright. I-“ The changeling’s breath caught in her throat and she gasped. Her tiny body began to tremble.  

 

“Oh, no.” Stiles said when he saw what was happening. When the changeling fell Derek caught her and made her sit down on a park bench. “How long have you-“ he stopped and realized it was too late. The changeling’s hair faded to white and her skin wrinkled as she rapidly aged. She had been underground for too long. Phil had warned her that the illusion was broken. Stiles dialed for help on his phone, but by the time the ambulance reached them it was too late and the changeling was dead.

 

A uniformed deputy approached them to get their statements.

 

“We were walking back from the club,” Derek lied. “And we saw that she was in trouble. We didn’t see anything else.”

 

The deputy nodded and looked over Derek’s torn tux and rumpled appearance. He raised an eyebrow. “Rough night?”

 

“Have you seen this guy?” Stiles asked pleasantly. He waved his staff. “We have to beat the women off him with a stick. I wish I was joking and damn glad I’m not that popular. I’ll never understand what girls see in the tall dark and brooding.”

 

“Me either, I guess.” The deputy didn’t look convinced, but there wasn’t much he could say in response. Instead he gave each of the teens his card and desk number incase they could think of anything else. Stiles shook his hand.

 

“Thanks deputy,” he glanced at the card, “Parrish. My dad’s a former sheriff, so yeah, we’ll definitely let you know.”

 

“You do that,” Parrish replied and walked back to his cruiser.

 

Stiles’s phone buzzed in his pocket. “Hello?”

 

“You hung up on me,” Stiles’s dad informed him. “And we are having a very serious conversation when all of you get back.”

 

“Yes, sir.”


	5. Here, There be Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta read, so there's probably a lot of mistakes. Please pay them no mind or if they're too obnoxious, leave a note and I'll fix 'em. :)

It took Stiles until the end of the week to realize they were in the domain of a witch _._

 

 _A witch _ as in _ singular _ and that was the weird thing. According to the Argent bestiary it was the solitary supernatural types that you had to watch out for.

 

All the weird stuff ran in families, like how human-munching wendigos usually lived in small family units. Oddly enough crazy bigoted hunter tendencies also ran in families (but probably for different reasons). So when Stiles started noticing traces of a singular witch, not a coven, he had every reason to worry.

 

A witch who didn’t know how to play nice with others was always a reason to worry.

 

According to Stiles’s own research (and hours spent decoding the notebooks of Merlin’s _alleged_ decent) shifters were by far the most common supernatural being. Werewolves in particular enjoyed a certain level of prestige and were on top of the supernatural food chain, so to speak. About 8.5% of the world’s population was supernatural (give or take since an actual census is impossible if you want to avoid hunters). The real kicker was that while less than ten percent of people were on a hunter’s hit list, 35% of people probably had a carrier gene in their family. Like Lydia, for example, wouldn’t have awakened as a banshee until the gene was triggered first, but her family still carried the gene unknowingly. Usually what tripped people’s triggers were events that were traumatic in nature.

 

Thus proving that Stiles was unquestionably human.

 

Well, human minus having a supposed knack for making mountain ash circles.

 

 _Oh, mountain ash circles_. While the “real” Stiles, the one who was born and raised in the topsy tuvy universe were freaking werewolves were a thing, the “other” Stiles had yet to get the hang of “being the spark”, _whatever in blue-blazin’ hell **that** meant_.

 

It took Stiles until the end of the week to notice signs of a witch because three bigger worries had distracted him from the possibility of a witch problem. The first of which was finishing up his last year of high school. No joke. Four days a week the pack’s students huddled together and crammed for the required aptitude tests. Beacon Hills was a war zone, but it wasn’t technically the apocalypse, so at the adults’ insistence (Derek’s included) the pack would finish high school.

 

Lydia had enough credits to graduate because she was a freaking genius, but everybody else had at least five credits they needed to finish if they wanted to be free. Three of those credits would have to be made up in summer school which would start in June and end in August. The pack members would earn the credits through a charter school that Lydia had found. The school already had Beacon County refugees attending their campus, so helping out a few more tragic students was no great cross to bear.

 

To accommodate the school situation the pack rented a house. The RV was put in storage. The adults found local jobs and the younger members were homeschooled by Derek. The domestic picture of it all made Stiles regularly crack up in fits of giggles. Derek was obviously more comfortable reviewing U.S. History than he had been teaching the betas how to fight at first. There was actual strategy involved in the former for one thing.

 

When Derek wasn’t under pressure of being all alphay, the werewolf was down right nurturing. He wasn’t any where close to Deaton’s level of Zen (thank the gods), but when Isaac was having trouble remembering historical dates it was Derek who suggested he memorize the dates by location. He advised Isaac to build a mental map and treat the dates like a house address. Strangely enough, it worked, but it didn’t stop being weird seeing a side of Derek that only the betas had initially known about.

 

The second concern that drew Stiles attention away from the witch was his “condition”. An _obviously_ rigged round of rock-paper-scissors determined that the girls all shared the master bedroom with Mrs. McCall. Scott, Isaac, and Mr. Stilinski were in the second bedroom. Derek and Stiles got their choice of a couch or pullout bed in the living room. Stiles ended up on the couch and Derek had the great honor of being the recipient of Stiles’s mandatory hug every morning. Alpha Scott must have figured Derek needed more hugs in his life.

 

It was an unspoken understanding that either Scott or Derek should be the hug recipient because there was no question about their loyalty to the pack. The other betas had a choice and it was uncertain that they would remain with the pack once the matter of Beacon Hills was ever settled. Although Derek had been the one to turn them into werewolves, he wasn’t going to demand their loyalty. In Derek’s mind they were free to make their own decisions and possessiveness didn’t equate to affection.

 

So, all in all, Stiles couldn’t really be blamed for overlooking the subtle signs of something more lurking around town. It wasn’t really a question on if the lone witch was a good witch or a bad witch because there weren’t really any “good” witches.  Witches channeled their powers using animal familiars and/or sacrifices (strike one for animal cruelty). Witches also tended to have a grayer perspective on morality and happened to be really big on disproportionate retribution usually ending in an agonizing death.

 

It was perfectly normal for someone to freak out over a $200 dollar parking ticket. A witch, however, will start breaking out the curses usually in the form of really gross boils. Stiles shuddered to think what would happen if somebody cut a witch off in traffic or some other perfectly normal everyday nuisance that inevitably ends with a freak death for the perpetrator. Stiles would need to make a mental note to check for news reports on missing telemarketers and door-to-door sales reps.

 

It wasn’t that witches are automatically incapable of being rational people, but if they were probably dealing with a lone witch who could be affected by the minus wave. Rationality would then, of course, be in short supply.

 

The third and most pressing reason Stiles had overlooked the presence of a witch for days was because early in week Lydia, banshee extraordinaire, woke the house up screaming.

 

Stiles fell off his couch-bed like the scream itself had shoved him off. When the screech was over Stiles looked over at Derek who was wincing in agony with his hands over his ears. He wasn’t wolfed out, but that was probably because that would have made the experience even more painful. Stiles had to fight every instinct to run and see what was up. He almost forgot, actually, if Derek hadn’t been right behind him when Stiles scrambled to the door.  A squeeze to his elbow reminded Stiles of the condition and he turned around to embrace the werewolf.

 

“She’s okay,” Derek assured him quietly with his mouth right next to Stile’s ear.

 

“But somebody won’t be,” Stiles squeezed Derek as tight as he could, making the hug worth trouble before letting go. “Somebody’s going to die.”

 

Derek wasn’t sure how to respond to that tactfully so he didn’t. The two of them were the last to enter the girls’ room where Mrs. McCall and Kira were both comforting Lydia. Erica was pacing anxiously. Mr. Stilinski came over to give his own reassurances and ask the greater question, “Who?”

 

“I don’t know,” Lydia said in a shaky voice. “There were two of them, a man and a woman. They were surrounded by flames. The man was screaming, but woman kept saying, ‘It’s okay. It’ll be okay, you can wake up now’ over and over like she _knew_ I was watching, but I couldn’t! I couldn’t wake up and they-“

 

“It’s okay, Lydia,” Mr. Stilinski soothed in his most soothing voice. “Take your time. Did they look familiar at all? If you saw them again would you recognize them?”

 

Lydia shook her head. “I don’t know the woman. I’ve never seen them before… wait, the man looked like the deputy. The really good looking one.”

 

“Deputy Parish?” Stiles asked remembering the deputy’s handsome face easily. “You think he’s going to die?”

 

“He’s going to be _murdered_ ,” Lydia corrected. “They were both tied down to chairs. Somebody put them there and then burned the building down. It looked like a store room, but it was too dark to tell for sure.”

 

“Sounds like the work of either psychos or hunters.” Erica muttered.

 

“What’s the difference?” Isaac asked sleepily.

 

“Well there’s nothing we can do about it now,” Mrs. McCall broke in. “It’s three o’clock in the morning and I think we can all use some relaxing tea and a few more hours of sleep.”

 

“I’d be down for that,” Isaac agreed and the rest of the pack nodded.

 

In all honesty though, Stiles didn’t think anyone was going to actually fall back asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

 Stiles took it as a sign that his skills with magic were growing and improving. At first he didn’t know what the tingling sensation was. He thought his arm and fingers were falling asleep at random intervals. It wasn’t until he really concentrated (something that was still a challenge for him) that Stiles realized what he was sensing were wards.

 

Magic wards were part magic, part geometry, and part calculus with a dash of quantum physics. There was an art from to making wards that Stiles hadn’t really picked up on. The witch hadn’t either apparently since the wards were only well hidden because they were stupidly simple. The witch’s wards were nothing elaborate and only slightly more useful than a lucky rabbit’s foot if Stiles was reading them correctly. Usually witches didn’t need wards because they had nasty potions on hand and a fuzzy familiar acting as a battery. Familiars both channeled magic and could act as protection in many ways. Stiles had read about witches in the Far East using monkey familiars as decoys by putting miniature clothes on them to escape hunters.

 

The bottom line was witches were crafty and ultimately out for themselves and not to be trusted. Stiles was even more wary since Derek had pointed out that witches and werewolves didn’t get along because one was bad enough, but the two together was like lighting flares telling hunters “Here we are!” What Stiles needed to do was find the witch, make sure he or she wasn’t crazy, and ask him or her to lay low until fall or possibly take a long vacation. Even witches needed time off right?

 

Stiles hadn’t forgotten Lydia’s prediction and hoped that the witch wasn’t involved, but the chances of them being instigator were actually pretty high now that he thought about it. Stiles needed a plan to find the witch without spooking them or getting cursed. After going over a few ideas Stiles settled on buying a prepaid phone and putting out a personal ad in the paper reading something along the lines of, “Would the real witch please stand up. Sincerely, Not-A-Hunter”. He didn’t think it would really work, but a few days later he got text message.

 

_-What do you want?_

Stiles quickly saved the number and texted back - _R u a good witch or a bad witch?_

 

_-Neither. Make a ‘Wicked’ reference and our brief encounter will be over this very second._

 

 _Wiz of Oz ok tho?-_ Stiles texted cheekily.

 

Ten minutes passed before his phone pinged again. Apparently the witch was a slow typist.

_-Young girl saves the day by making friends, ousting a fraud, and having a mop bucket handy. Better morals than Star Wars._

 

_OMG u did not!!!-_

_-A movie budget that big and you only have enough room in your Hollywood formula for one fleshed out female character and one black dude per trilogy? Really? That is systemic racism and sexism. You’re a white male aren’t you?_

_Plot twist what if wookie a girl?-_

_-Not according to the Christmas special, he’s not._

_U saw that monstrosity?!-_

_-It’s not the dark ages, fanboy. I know Google-fu too._

 

Stiles wasn’t sure how to retort to that. He was saved the effort by a quick “g2g” popping up on his screen. He still didn’t know if the witch was friend or foe or even for sure if it was the witch he was talking to. Stiles had caught somebody’s interest. He counted it as a blessing that the witch spoke English (aka ‘nerd’), but it could have been a front. Stiles made up his mind to test the witch like a suspected communist with all sorts of pop culture references.

 

 _-I don’t understand that reference._ The witch replied to one of Stiles master pieces and well thought out conversation starters.

 

Stiles wanted to bang his head against the table. _How?? Everybody knows that!-_

 

- _Every time somebody turns on the TV I get up to go read a book. I haven’t owned a TV in years._

_No reality TV at all?-_

_-The point of entertainment is to escape reality, not kill brain cells with fake reality. I include the cable news in that statement._

Part of the reason the witch was so slow to text back was because she insisted on using complete sentences with proper punctuation. Not even Derek did that.

 

 _How does magic work?-_ Stiles asked and waited for a reply. After about 20 minutes he was worried he had scared the witch off, but then series of texts followed.

 

- _Magic functions on belief, mostly. It’s kind of like Chinese medicine. For thousands of years they’ve perfected their methods through trial and error._

- _Unlike Western medicine, which only treats symptoms, Chinese medicine looks at the body as a whole. In Chinese you don’t “take” medicine, you “eat” medicine._  
- _Even in western medicine. if you’ve ever read the waver forms they make you sign before receiving treatment they state_ ; _It’s not even in that medicine is “not an exact science”. People forget that science is more fallible than we think and magic less so than we believe._

Stiles thought the witch’s explanation was rather poetic so he asked again:

 _So are you a good witch or a bad witch?_ -

 

_-The rule of thumb: magic used for the sake of one’s self is “bad” and magic that is used for the sake of others is “good”._

 

 _I see.-_ Stiles replied with a sigh. A witch all alone with out a coven was a dangerous think indeed. _Do you have a cat? Or five?_ -

 

- _I’m allergic and my last familiar had to be put to sleep. There is something I’ve had my eye on for a while now, but a new pack of werewolves is pretty flashy and so is the bonding spell. I hate to say it, but you’ve kind of set my plans back. Nothing personal, but how long are you in town?_

 

Stiles could feel his heart palpitating. So the witch did know about them. He texted back, _Until the end of summer.-_

_-Well, the creature isn’t going anywhere so I guess that’s okay._

_What is it?-_ Stiles wanted to smack his forehead. There’s no way the witch would be that forthcoming.

_-A dragon._ Came the surprising reply.

 

“Of course,” Stiles said out loud. “Fairies, so why not dragons?”

 

* * *

 

 

“So, dragons are a thing.” Stiles mentioned abruptly during the pack weekly meeting. Dozens of eyes squinted at him and blinked before looking towards their alpha.

 

“Really Stiles? Dragons?” Scott asked.

 

“I’m sorry, but werewolf says what?” Stiles countered.

 

“You can’t use that to win every argument.” Derek said. “There are no such things as dragons.”

 

“Ahem,” Stiles corrected. “I have reliable sources that say vampires and zombies are not real, because the whole undead thing actually violates some supernatural equivalent to the laws of physics, but dragons are totally real.”

 

“I demand fact-check on zombies,” Lydia muttered under her breath.

 

“And out do you know this exactly?” his dad asked part exasperated part worried.

 

“Like I said, ‘reliable sources’.” Stiles told them. “Also said dragon is in town so either they live in sewers like New York alligators (which are totally fake in case you’re wondering) or they’re not really all that different from you guys.”

 

“Meaning they look human?” Isaac asked. “Do they turn into a bigger version of Jackson?”

 

“Unfortunately my research hasn’t gotten that far.” Stiles shrugged. “I just thought I’d just give everybody a heads up.”

 

“You are not going to figuratively poke a dragon with a stick,” his dad told him sternly.

 

“Pft,” Stiles snorted. “Of course not. I’m not stupid.”

 

“Dead guy walking say what?” Erica taunted.

 

“Accident prone and stupid are two different things, Erica.”

 

“Whatever,” the blonde said dismissively.

 

“Besides it was the witch I was going to poke with a stick.” Stiles said brightly.

 

“STILES!!” his pack groaned.

 

* * *

 

Walking around with a seven-foot long staff wasn’t practical for everyday use. Stiles knew how useful his Merlin-memento was in battle, but walking around down town with a stick only made him stand out and his witchy target had stressed the need for subtlety. The hub of people going about their daily business was interfering with Stiles’s attempt at tracking and he hadn’t wanted to rely on a werewolf to do his homework for him.

 

No, this was something Stiles needed to do himself.

 

As the faint pulse of magic grew stronger Stiles opened his eyes to see a woman standing in front of him. There wasn’t anything remarkable about her. Her clothes had a thrift-store-rock-a-billy feel to them and her hair was tied up with a blue bandana. She was only slightly taller than Lydia with a redder shade of hair and she appeared to be a few years older than Derek.

 

 

Slowly the witch revealed herself and Stiles could sense wave after wave of magic rolling off her tiny body. He familiarized himself with the texture of it. It wasn’t the smell of lighting and ozone, but that was the closest sense that Stiles could equate the magic to. Then, just as slowly, the magic receded and the witchy side of the woman was hidden again.

 

“You’re a priest.” She said simply. “The old kind, before the Voice-Out-of-the-Desert and even before the druids.”

 

“And you know that how?” Stiles asked. “Is there like a magic neon sign hanging over my head.”

 

The witch shook her head and drew out a scarlet flower from her back pocket to present to him. She said, “When you are ready, you will hear it, but until then I must teach you.” She added with emphasis, “Quickly. Time is of the essence.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“Because if I cannot teach you in time, then I will die.” The witch explained as she turned her back for Stiles to follow. “The weather-glass has warned me of this.”

 

“The flower?”

 

“When you remember its other name, you will know your calling.” The witch said. “Until then I think the park will be suited for your lesson.”

 

* * *

 

“The problem is there is no wrong answer,” the witch explained. “But at the same time there is not right answer. You’ve been trained to think with a scientific mind and until you move beyond that, you’re magic will be weakened.”

 

“Okay,” Stiles nodded as the two magic users hid under the shade of a leafy tree.

 

“It’s like this,” the witch explained. “Think of science as a thermometer. It’s 72 decrees right now, right?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Not wrong, but not right. Nature doesn’t have a thermostat that dictates it’s any given temperature at any given time. Temperature is a human construct, a subjective measurement.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Science is the same way. It’s a subjective means of measurement that has no affect on the actual event it observes.” The witch said. “So you have to stop thinking of the world subjectively.”

 

“But, that’s impossible.”

 

“It is.”

 

“So, how am I supposed to do it if it’s impossible?”

 

“By believing in the impossible.” The witch told him. “Since we’ve already established that science is a subjective measuring tool, using it to determine what is or isn’t possible doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it?”

 

“I guess?”

 

“Good.” The witch passed him a small pouch. “Make a circle around the tree with this.”

 

“Mountain ash?” Stiles asked as he opened the bag. “But there’s barely any in here!”

 

“By whose measurement?”

 

“Matter can’t be created or destroyed!” Stiles flailed in exasperation. “You cannot change the laws of physics, Jim!”

 

“I’m not asking you to.” The witch told him with a stern huff. “Study up on quantum mechanics recently? You can know where a practical is and you can know when a practical is, but you can’t measure both at the same time meaning it is completely possible for a single practical to be in two places _at the same time_.”

 

“I guess?” Stiles did remember reading some really awesome stuff on the internet about that, but you always had to take that kind of information with a grain of salt.

 

“So don’t you think it’s totally possible that you’re just missing something?” The witch asked. “It’s magic. Yes, there’s a trick to it, but don’t have to know all the nitty gritty details to make it work. Imagination is more important than skill.”

 

“Imagination is more important than knowledge,” Stiles corrected. “Einstein said that.”

 

“Appropriate from a man who did most of his experiments in his head.” The witch tilted her head and smirked. “If you ask me that’s a million times more impressive than any trick I know.”

 

“What if it doesn’t work?” Stiles asked still unsure. He hadn’t been able to do make a mountain ash circle yet and that was like the wax-on-wax-off of magic tricks.

 

“Geeze, get a self confidence booster shoot or something,” the witch groaned. “You don’t have to do it alone, nit wit. You’re a _priest_ , duh. Just ask for help and you’ll get it. You already _have_ a god looking out for you.”

 

“Oh, right.” Stiles stood up and took a breath.

 

“Stop closing in on yourself,” the witch snapped. “Think outward. It’s a nature god so open your mind to nature. Be like a plant. Just open yourself, reach to the light and grow!”

 

And once again Stiles failed. The ash scattered before he could compete the circle, but it seemed the little pouch could carry a lot more than Stiles had given it credit for. The witch, however, looked immensely pleased by his progress.

 

“Rock on, dude.” She told him with applause.

 

“What?” Stiles looked at her confused.

 

“You’re totally the type that rises to the occasion.” The witch praised. “It’s a good trait to have since you don’t really want to waste your juice. Remember, the power has to come from somewhere. The gods can lend you some, but the bulk of it still comes from you. I promise you’re a natural at this. When the time comes, you’ll know what to do.”

 

“Oh, so, practicing is a bad idea?”

 

“Dude, you can practice prayer whenever want, but I’m saying its better to only use magic when you absolutely have to.” The witch looked smug. “Unless you’re like me and willing to dabble in the less ethical side of the spectrum.”

 

“You mean use a familiar like a battery.” Stiles said dryly. “PETA would throw a fit.”

 

The witch’s shrug was interrupted by someone approaching them. It took a moment, but Stiles could tell by how they walked that the gentleman in question was more than human. “Shapeshifter,” the witch informed him out of the side of her mouth. “We’ll have to end the lesson here,” she said. “Duty calls.”

 

The shapeshifter stopped at about six feet away and the witch rose to meet them. Stiles couldn’t see from where he sat what they were saying, but their body language had a “business as usual” look to it.

 

For Stiles, though, that explained how a lone witch could resist the minus wave. If a bunch of rag-tags could make up a pack, then perhaps the definition of coven wasn’t as narrow as they originally thought either.

 

* * *

 

“Where were you?” Derek asked immediately upon Stiles’s return.

 

The human gave the former alpha a look. “I thought it was my dad’s job to handle the awkward interrogations?”

 

Derek didn’t look impressed and just continued to glare at him like that alone would force out an answer. Stiles shook his head. “I just went to investigate something.”

 

“Because that is always safe with you and never leads to trouble.” Derek said sarcastically.

 

“I can take care of myself,” Stiles argued. “I’m not helpless.”

 

“I beg to differ.” Derek said.

 

“Me not knowing about all the hocus pocus that goes on in the world didn’t stop it from being there or being dangerous.” Stiles argued. “So just because I know better now doesn’t mean I should lock myself up and never leave my room. Statistically speaking I’m more likely to die in a car accident than by anything supernatural. In fact, I did!”

 

“I’m not saying you can’t go out, just don’t go out alone.” Derek snapped. “It’s stupid and completely avoidable.”

 

“Like you never go out alone, you hypocrite.” Stiles drawled.

 

“That’s different.”

 

“It is not!” Stiles poked the werewolf in the chest. “In fact, I’d say it’s even worse for you since you seem to be the trouble magnet. Who the hell did you piss off in a previous life? You might want to ask that the next time stalker-fox shows up.”

 

Derek growled at Stiles rather than add fuel to the argument, but then he said, “It doesn’t matter if I die, but it matters if you do.”

 

“You thinking that just proves how dumb you are and it's really, really sad.” Stiles huffed and sat down on his bed/couch. “I would recommend some serious therapy, but they might have you committed for thinking you’re a werewolf. I recommend the ‘Step-one’ method patented by the Wonderfulonious Dr. Strationious.”

 

“What.”

 

“This is why you need to spend quality time with a cable box, my friend.” Stiles pulled out his laptop and pulled up a video on youtube. Derek leaned over his shoulder and gave a disbelieving snort.

 

“A _children’s_ show?” the werewolf asked incredulously.

 

“Shhhhh! S’down, you might learn something.” Stiles instructed. As a cereal jingle worthy tune began to play the great Dr. S. explained his method to young minds.

 

‘ _Step one, Da-da dadum,_

_‘Step one again,_

_Step one,_

_Hmm-hmm hmmhmm,_

_If you’re ever in doubt-_

_Step one!’_

‘ _I find the step-one method to be very useful in every day activities,’_ the fake doctor told the eager young minds. _‘You can us it to make a sandwich for example. Step one! Gather all the ingredients!’_

 Each of the children put one item on the counter, a bag of bread, peanut butter, jelly, and a spoon. In a voice that sounded like it was scripted a child asked, ‘ _what’s the next step?’_

_‘That’s the beauty of the step-on method! We’re actually done! The next set of steps are completely new steps. Step one! Open the containers! Step one again! Put peanut butter on one side of the bread. And if you wanted to, you could stop here! Look! Just fold the peanut butter slice over and you have a taco! Look! Jamie is putting bananas on his sandwich instead of jelly!’_

A kid made a face, ‘ _My taco doesn’t taste very good.’_

_‘I don’t like grape jelly,’_ another kid complained.

 

 _‘Step one: Don’t panic!_ ’ the doctor said. ‘ _Step one again! Christy, how about we use strawberry jelly for your sandwich and Greg can try putting a little honey on his peanut butter taco and see if that works. The best thing about the Step-One Method is if you mess up a step, you don’t have to go very far to pick yourself up and try again! Just remember to stop, take a deep breath, and think of a step one. When you’re making a sandwich it doesn’t really matter if you do the peanut butter side first or the jelly side._

_‘Of course the Step-One method doesn’t work for everyone and that’s okay. The Step-one method can be adapted to include as many steps as you need. You see-_

_‘Step one, is how it’s done_

_Step two, knows what to do_

_Step three, just follow me_

_Step four, is ready for more,_

_Step five, knows how to jive_

_And if there’s every any doubt Step one!’_

“This has got to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Derek said standing up. “I could have used those brain cells for something useful, like curing cancer.”

 

“Lycanthropy is such a cop-out,” Stile complained. He leaned back against the couch. “Hey, have you every thought about how different the world would be if people knew about the supernatural? Why is it all a big secret anyway?”

 

“Because there are only a few of us and that makes us vulnerable,” Derek pointed out. “Kate was just one psycho in the know and look what she could do. Think about what would happen if everyone knew. It’s too dangerous.”

 

“Sure there would be diehard haters and supporters, but most people wouldn’t care, probably, if it didn’t affect them directly.” Stiles pointed out. “The silent majority just weathering out the storm,” Stiles added reflecting on another hint Scott’s (maybe) deity had given them.

 

Derek stared at him and said, “I don’t like that look on your face.”

 

“You just don’t like my face.”

 

“Point, but you’re obviously cooking up a bad idea.” Derek told him. “Whatever it is, don’t.”

 

“Dude, it’s fine. You know me. What could possibly go wrong?”

 

* * *

 

“So you know me,” Stiles rambled pleasantly. “I just had to open my mouth and ask ‘what could possibly go wrong’ like I haven’t seen every bad movie ever.”

 

“From your lips to the gods’ ears,” the witch agreed.

 

“So, dragons.”

 

“Dragons.” The witch nodded. “Plural. I wasn’t expecting that.”

 

The duo had to practically shout over the noise of the bar. There was a reception going on which had allowed Stiles to sneak in along with his temporary mentor. Originally she was going to send him to different thrift stores and find hidden magic items. “Every store has at least one,” she said. “Usually weak and harmless, but occasionally there’s a cursed item to crack. I thought you would find this task more interesting.”

 

The task involved finding the dragons hidden among the crowd. Said beings lived long lives and it was rare for them to mix with humans and have viable children. Any fertile bloodlines had to be carefully monitored for atavisms.

 

“So they pull a Wedding Crashers?” Stiles asked. “How does that even?”

 

“The reception is easier to infiltrate than the actual wedding.” The witch explained. “Weddings are planned months in advance so it wouldn’t be hard to be hired on by the venue or catering company as staff.”

 

“So if a dragon’s descendant were bitten by a werewolf…” Stiles asked.

 

“They probably would reject the bite.” The witch shrugged. “Anyone with shifter blood can survive the bite, but those few without it or with a diluted version will likely reject the blood. I’m glad you asked, actually. As magic users it’s good for us to know these things.” The witch then ordered her protégé to “Go forth and find the dragons!” What was left unsaid was “While I sit here and drink lazily making you do all the work for my nefarious purposes” and Stiles had to wonder what was wrong with his life that he was stuck doing favors for all these nefarious older women.

 

The witch chuckled to herself before turning her eyes to scan the crowd. An unusual song choice purred over the jukebox which made her raise an eyebrow. The message was one of sweet, sweet materialism and shallow hearts and almost wicked in nature which put a smile on her face. She slid off her bar stool and sauntered over to the poor soul who waited a dollar on the silly song.

 

“Hey, you made it.” The handsome figure looked relieved as the witch took his elbow and guided him to the bar’s minimal dance floor.

 

“Like I’d leave my best friend stranded in the middle of all these hot and bothered distant relatives,” the witch chuckled. “Are you sure you don’t want to chance hitting it off with some sweet young thing?” The young man looked positively horrified by the suggestion making his “friend” chuckle wickedly. “One dance,” she promised. “Then we’ll make our escape.”

 

“Fine.” Her friend agreed.

 

Some said that west coast swing was one of the hardest dances, but the witch found the basic steps to be pretty easy. It was just _One, two, one-two-three, one-two-three_ in her head over and over. It was easy to style the moves to the sway of the music. In fact the hardest thing for the witch was relinquishing control to her partner as the leader. The handsome figure held her right hand gently with his left leaving plenty of room between them for the Holy Spirit, but giving the witch enough freedom to move sensually. The witch took it upon herself show off a bit and taunt the envious eyes that surrounded them as the music promised magical, impossible things.

 

_‘I know what you’re waiting for_

_Well you don’t need to wait no more_

_I can give you anything you want_

_Give you anything you need_

_I’ll make your dreams come true_

_Give you anything you want_

_Fulfill your fantasies_

_I’ll make your dreams come true_

_‘You wanna taste of fame, I’ll give it to you_

_You wanna little cupcake, I’ll give it to you_

_You wanna a cockatoo, I’ll give it you_

_You wanna a kangaroo, I’ll give it to you_

_You wanna American car, I’ll give it to you_

_You wanna Hollywood star, I’ll give it to you_

_You wanna go to the moon_

_I’ll see what I can do’_

 

“Wait, isn’t this the song from-?” Stiles turned and saw his mentor dancing with the good-looking deputy, Parrish or something, from earlier. “Dang gurl!”

 

At least the witch looked like she was having fun, but there was less love and more mischievousness to the sparkle in her eyes. That probably had to do with the down right murderous glares from the surrounding reception members. When the song finished the dancing duo made an escape out the back and Stiles followed. There was no way he was being left behind on a wild goose, or dragon, hunt.

 

The exit said “Emergency only” but the alarm was silent when Stiles stepped out into the alley. He really hoped he wouldn’t find the two making out, but they didn’t really seem have that kind of chemistry going. If anything Stiles suspected, based on his awesome detective skills, that they duo were much like him in Scott. The witches half giggle, half cackle seemed to agree. A few paces a head he saw the deputy punch the witch in the harm in retaliation for laughing at him.

 

Before the witch could counter the couple was rushed by two dark figures. The witch’s scream was muffled as a cloth bag was thrown over her head. Neither the deputy nor the witch was a slouch. They fought back tooth and nail, literately in the witch’s case, until the two thugs were almost defeated. Stiles held his breath as the witch ripped the bag off her head and heard the blood freezing sound of tires screeching.

 

Amplified by her magic, the witch shouted so every supernatural creature on the block could hear her warning, “HUNTERS!!!”

 

Stiles flinched as the pulse of magic struck him and he was freed from his paralysis. Stiles retreated back into the bar where there were more witnesses and humans. He pulled out his phone to call his pack. After a few rings Stiles was struck by the thought of why didn’t he call 911 first.

 

“Hello? Stiles?”

 

Scott’s voice was a soothing balm on Stiles nerves and he managed to stutter out, “Hunters, Scott! They just grabbed that deputy from the other day and his girlfriend outside a bar.”

 

“Shit! Stiles are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, they didn’t see me and I-“ Stiles stopped talking when he looked up and saw two sets of bronze colored eyes glowing at him. “I think I found the dragons.”


	6. The Straggletag

 

Stiles mentally cursed. In retrospect he probably should have asked the witch what do to when he actually found the dragons. He wondered if they knew what the witch’s intentions were and if that technically made him and accomplice because that sounded much nicer than “evil minion”. PETA (and Scott) might throw a fit at the idea of using animals and magical species as living batteries that equal awesome powers, but Stiles could appreciate that in order to make significant scientific discoveries and advancements you occasionally need to use a lab rat.

 

Actually, Stiles thought using a supernatural species as a familiar was _brilliant_ because they lacked the limitations of your everyday dog, cat, and occasional gold fish variety familiar. If Stiles were a witch he would have totally explored the possibility of using one of his fuzzy werewolf friends as a familiar.

 

But Stiles wasn’t a witch. Well, current Stiles wasn’t a witch, but the original Stiles of this universe might have been. Current Stiles didn’t feel very witchy.

 

“You,” the first dragon murmured as he studied Stiles carefully. “You’ve had some dealings with the fae.”

 

Once his eyes stopped glowing there wasn’t anything supernaturally revealing about the man. He was taller than Stiles and fairly slender for his height, but not gangly. Both men appeared to have a grace about them that made them seem untouchable by normal standards and they were on par with Deputy Parrish in the looks department.

 

“Pleasant folk,” Stiles replied cautiously. “Minus the whole cursing thing. Twice actually, now that I think about it.”

 

“You will then be of some use to us.” The second dragon nodded to the first. This dragon appeared to be younger and Stiles wondered what their relationship was. They looked like they could be brothers or given that Stiles didn’t know the life expectancy of the dragon kind the two men could have easily have been father and son.

 

The second dragon elaborated by saying, “There is a slight problem that we cannot deal with alone.”

 

“And what do I get in return?” Stiles asked knowing that a bargain with the supernatural should have a favorable price especially if it involved the fairy folk.

The two dragons grinned in a way that made the human shiver and swallow.

 

“How about in exchange we won’t turn you over to the hunters?” the first dragon asked.

 

“I think you life is a fair price,” the second dragon agreed.

 

 _Shit_. Stiles thought. It was hard to argue with that and as much as he wanted to save his new witch friend, the preservation of his own life was a slightly more pressing matter. Just slightly. The witch was the reason he was in this mess to begin with. _Wait_.

 

“You’re the ones who tipped off the hunters!” Stiles realized with horror. “You might as well have killed her yourselves!”

 

“Like we didn’t know she was on to us,” the first dragon huffed. Stiles wrinkled his nose in distaste noting that the dragon’s breath smelled like cigarettes, probably to cover up a more incriminating smell. “We’re fortunate that while hunters believe dragons to be extinct, witches are far more common and oh so easy to catch when they are without a coven.”

 

“This was our territory first,” the second dragon said. “We were willing to leave her alone, but then she had to go poke her nose in where it wasn’t wanted.”

 

“And you’re saying if I help you, you’re willing to let me go?” Stiles taunted. “I’m sorry if I trust that about as far as I can throw the both of you.”

 

“Fortunately for us it’s not your trust that we need.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m starting to sense a pattern. The minute we turn our backs, Stiles stumbles into a mess of trouble.” Erica commented as the pack sniffed around the bar for any signs of the missing human. They could tell easily enough that Deputy Parrish had been taken one way and Stiles had been dragged off the other. Lydia’s vision suggested the kidnapped pair was important, but Scott was hesitant to divide their forces.

 

“Witches are human enough.” Isaac suggested. “Can’t we just let the police deal with it? They’d take it seriously if one of their own is kidnapped.”

 

“Except they’d be taking on a private militia who clearly don’t respect the code,” Derek countered. “There’s no way the local authorities are equipped to handle that. The National Guard? Maybe.”

 

“I hate to agree on that point,” Mr. Stilinski said scratching his head in a manner that was very much akin to his son’s nervous tick. “How often do you think hunter infiltrate law enforcement?”

 

“Thankfully their nomadic tendencies tend to keep them from holding steady jobs.” Derek shrugged. “I’d imagine catching regular criminals would be a lackluster occupation for them.”

 

“Thank God for small favors.”

 

Scott coughed to get their attention. “Stiles said dragons.”

 

“Myth until about thirty minutes ago.” Lydia tapped her finger nails together thoughtfully. “There was nothing in the Argent’s bestiary about them.”

 

“But Stiles knew.” Scott pointed out.

 

“His new friend must have told him.” Erica sighed. “Anyone else see the pattern?”

 

Lydia thought for a moment. “The witch must be the woman in my vision. She knows about the dragons. She might be able to lead us to them.”

 

“So to save Stiles we need to save the witch.”

 

“Either way we’re running out of time.” Scott stood up to his fully height. “I don’t want to divide our forces, but I can’t track Stiles this way. The dragons, or whatever, have covered their tracks.”

 

“Shit, if they can hide from your Alpha-senses…” Isaac moaned.

 

“It might not be the senses that are the problem.” Derek pointed out in a low voice. He held up his hand to stave off the dark glares the rest of the pack sent his way. “Let me finish. Scott is the alpha, but he’s still a turned werewolf. It could take years for him to master the wolf side.”

 

“I don’t like the idea of you going alone Derek,” Scott said firmly putting some authority behind it. “I know that’s what you want to do, but the pack can’t afford to lose anyone. That includes you.”

“If I can find Stiles I won’t be alone.”

 

“Against dragons?”

 

“Stiles is alone right now. We need to decide, but it is your call, Alpha.” Derek added with only a hint of distain. If Scott was sure he wouldn’t question the decision, but he needed the young Alpha to be sure.”

 

Scott exhaled slowly and then nodded. “Fine, you can go, but as recon only. Call us if you find Stiles, but don’t start a fight on your own. We’ll find the witch and see if we can get answers from her on the dragons.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles gagged as the stench of rot and taint robbed him of his breath. The two dragons behind him scrunched their faces in sympathy, but they would not be jointing the human as he descended a moldy wooden staircase into the underground tunnel below an old and common looking town house. A creature had moved into one of the dragon hoards and they had requested Stiles go in and remove the creature by any means necessary.

 

Their explanation for sending a human was simple enough and Stiles had to smother his amusement because all he could picture was the adorable mongoose form the _Rikki-Tikki-Tavi_ cartoon beating up on a big bad dragon. He kept the adorable picture in mind to keep his thoughts off the horrible smell and the snapping of animal bones under his feet. At least the creature’s preys were small mammals meaning it was less likely to see Stiles as a suitable meal.

 

The flashlight in his hand flickered almost nervously. Stiles kept repeating _Rikki-Tikki-Tavi_ in his head over and over again as he followed the curves of the serpentine room. It reminded him of the Labyrinth. In two weeks he would be able to sleep alone without Scott or Derek having to be the first people to greet him in the mornings. Stiles was very grateful for Phil’s mercy, but knew he couldn’t let his guard down until the condition was met (or maybe a few days after depending on how paranoid he was feeling).

 

From out of the tunnel Stiles heard the sound of an instrument being played like bongo drums. After a few bars a light hearted whistle joined in. Stiles’s nerves eased as he approached the sound. Music was a good sign. He could exchange the songs he had learned from his previous mentor’s notes for tokens or favors. Even the fae would honor and respect that kind of currency.

 

The human turned off his flashlight so he wouldn’t startle the creature as the tunnel opened up into a small room covered from floor to ceiling in gold and gems. There were no distinctive pieces of jewelry that would raise any red flags when fenced. The room was lit with nearly fifty candles burning cheerfully as the flames swayed in time to the drumming. The creature that was keeping the dragons from accessing their private wealth was sitting on the floor jamming on animal skulls the size of a large cow’s.

 

_‘I took a short-cut home the other night_  
_Nearly gave myself an awful fright._  
_I step on a foot that I hadn’t seen,_  
_And an angry Hunter can be awful mean._

_‘And I bawled. I bawled. I bawled. I bawled._  
_Oh, man, you should have heard me bawl._  
_Well, I bawl when I feel the pain that I’m in from that old Hunter again._  
_Oh, yes I bawled. I bawled. I bawled. I bawled._  
_Oh, man, you should have heard me bawl._  
_Well, I bawl when I feel the pain that I’m in from that old Hunter again._

 

And to the human’s dismay the tune was surprisingly catchy.

 

_‘The first time he hit me he knocked me down._  
_Wouldn’t even let me get off the ground,_  
_I tried to explain the rules of Queensbury._  
_The Hunter said, “Don’t you go playing with me.”_

_‘And I bawled. I bawled. I bawled. I bawled._  
_Oh, man, you should have heard me bawl._  
_Well, I bawl when I feel the pain that I’m in. I don' want meet that old Hunter again._  
_Oh, yes I bawled. I bawled. I bawled. I bawled._  
_Oh, man, you should have heard me bawl._  
_Well, I bawl when I feel the pain that I’m in. I don' want meet that old Hunter again.’_

The creature started whistling the next verse keeping the upbeat rhythm on their bony drums. Stiles couldn’t tell if he was dealing with a man, woman, human, shifter, or fairy because the creature in question was covered from head to toe in a patchwork of furs sewn together from different animals. Stiles figured it was a case of “waste not, want not” since there were animal bones scattered among the gold and precious stones. The human cleared his throat and the creature slowed down his or her rhythm to a slower crawl.

 

“ _Way out here we have a name for rain and wind and fire….”_ The creature sang at an easy pace and Stiles perked up. He knew that song. He joined the creature’s song until the lyrics slipped away from him and the creature sang a version Stiles didn’t know. It wasn’t the same song from “Paint Your Wagon”.

 

The creature chuckled and rested his or her hands on the skulls in a pause. “Welcome to my humble abode. I am the Straggletag.”

 

“What _are_ you? If you don’t mind my asking?” Stiles sat down a respectful distance away mostly to avoid the creature’s strong musk.

 

“Human, mostly,” the creature replied with a shrug. “Broke out of Langley Porter a while back. Toothy things are less willing to eat you if you only shower on red moons instead of blue.”

 

Stiles coughed. “I can imagine.”

 

“So, dear guest, what can I do you for?” the Straggletag asked.

 

“The dragons who own this place want you out of it and they sent me down to take care of it by any means necessary.” Stiles said. “If I can’t they’ll sic hunters on me and my pack.”

 

The Straggletag giggled and began to smack her bone drums again in the pattern of the first song.

 

_‘The lovey-lovey-thing that won’t say its name_  
_Out fear of death all over and over again_  
_Caused the Hunter to squint and sneeze and I started to I run_  
_Was gone like a bullet from the hunter’s gun._

_‘And I bawled. I bawled. I bawled. I bawled._  
_Oh, man, you should have heard me bawl._  
_Well, I bawl when I feel the pain that I’m in. Don't want meet that old Hunter again._  
_Oh, yes I bawled. I bawled. I bawled. I bawled._  
_Oh, man, you should have heard me bawl._  
_Well, I bawl when I feel the pain that I’m in. Don't want meet that old Hunter again.’_

Stiles found himself wiggling to the rhythm and joining in on the chorus. Although the lyrics sounded more like “Well-I-ballow-in-the-field-of-pin-thattaming”, the tune was unbelievably catchy and Stiles could look forward to weeks of annoying his packmates with the ear worm.

 

“You must be my Rafiki,” Stiles said with a grin although the Straggletag looked more like Cousin It from the Addam’s Family. “I’ve already met my Obi-wan and Yoda. I don’t suppose you know how to defeat dragons?”

 

The Straggletag kept drumming on the skulls and seemed to consider the question. “What do you think it is that I do?”

 

Stiles squinted and tried to gauge the person hidden under the quilt of furs. The creature was smaller than he was for sure and probably not blessed with insane amounts of super strength. There was only one explanation for how a creature like that could best two mother-loving _dragons_. The human’s heart started thumping in his hears as the pieces were finally falling into place starting with Scott and the pack insisting that pretty much “the force is strong with this one”.

 

Stiles had the spark. Energy couldn’t be created or destroyed so his magic had to come from somewhere. As a priest it was okay for him to ask for help from not just the One and Only; Stiles could outsource his prayers to anyone who just happened to listening.

 

The tricky thing was the language one used for asking for help from the universe. Perhaps witches didn’t so much use familiars as batters as much walky-talkies. Magic circles and charms probably held a similar function like a memo of “hey, a little help here?” The Straggletag probably had a similar charm and at that thought Stiles glanced down at the bones.

 

“Is it the bones or is it the music?”

 

The Straggletag giggled and said, “It is both. Many years ago I heard a story much like David and Goliath. A boy helps to save a village with nothing more than his little banjo, which he played very poorly, and his wits to fall a great big giant. I remembered the story in my padded cell. Slipping out of straightjackets is only amusing for so long, so I taught myself how to hand-bone.”

 

“Hand-bone?”

 

“Google it later, kid, you might learn something.” The Straggletag chuckled. “I figure I have a little bit of Pied Piper in my family or something because after a few snaps I was able to march out of the nut house with my own parade.”

 

“That’s… really cool, now that I think about it.” Stiles said. “I’ve been trying to learn magic, but nothing seems to be sticking. It’s like the language doesn’t work for me.”

 

“Then try the universal language.” There was a smirk in the Straggletag’s voice. “What you need is a ruby whistle.”

 

Stiles shrank in embarrassment. “I had one, but I traded it to a fairy. I didn’t know what it was.”

 

“Only the most beautiful whistle in the world,” the Straggletag scoffed. “Don’t worry. If it didn’t call to you then it wasn’t meant to be. Maybe there’s something in here for you then.”

 

“Here?”

 

“Dragon’s hoard. Magic dragons have magic things? If you just borrow for a few decades, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

 

“Oh, yeah.” Stiles stood up and looked around frantically. There wasn’t a sword or shield in sight, but that made sense and Stiles wasn’t trying to slay the dragons. He tried to feel his way around, but nothing called out to him. Stiles slumped to the floor a few respectful feet from the Straggletag. “Man, this sucks.”

 

Stiles took a deep breath and reached his mind outward like the witch had told him to. “Please, help me find something to defeat the dragons…”

 

“Stiles!” a familiar voice called from the tunnel.

 

“Derek?” Stiles twisted his head around and saw the werewolf turn the corner in beta form. Derek turned glowing eyes to the Straggletag and growled, but Stiles could also see him flinch back at the potent odor of the room.

 

Instinctively Stiles leapt and wrapped the werewolf in a hug. Derek stilled at the gesture causing the human to freeze also.

 

“Sorry,” Stiles said slightly muffled by Derek’s shoulder. “Force of habit.” Stiles stepped back and pointed a thumb at his rescuer. He told the Straggletag, “This is Derek. He’s a werewolf.”

 

Stiles pointed to the furry quilt monster in the room and told Derek, “This is the Straggletag.”

 

Without missing a beat the Straggletag lifted a shrouded hand and said, “Yo!” before going back to drumming.

 

Derek relaxed minutely and shifted back into human form. He glanced around the room then at Stiles with a raised an expressive eyebrow that could be summed up to, “Really?”

 

“The Straggletag says there might be something in here that I can use to kick dragon ass, so now that you’re here you can help me find it,” Stiles told the werewolf brightly.

 

“We can’t walk two feet without tripping over a trickster,” Derek pointed out. “How do you know it’s not lying?”

 

Stiles blinked at him. The former alpha had a point. Stiles looked back at the Straggletag hoping the creature would take it upon itself to defend its integrity. Unfortunately it seemed the Straggletag had no intention to defend its reputation or Stiles’s sense of judgment whatsoever.

 

“Uh, it wouldn’t hurt to look?” Stiles suggested weakly and Derek rolled his eyes.

 

“Fine,” the werewolf relented. “What should I be looking for?”

 

Stiles scratched his head and tried to think. His human senses didn’t work and magic was all about belief, so he had to ask himself what did he believe in? The human glanced at his supernatural companion. Derek had his usual surly expression. According to Scott, Derek had been getting better, but Peter’s betrayal (and the whole revival from the dead thing) had caused the werewolf to basically start back at square one. It was bonafide miraculous that Derek even trusted Scott and it was guilt that made him listen to Stiles.

 

Stiles felt it was a shot in the dark, but he said. “Find the thing that smells like it belongs to me or something.”

 

“Belongs to you?”

 

“Like it’ll smell like me or just have a complementing scent.” Stiles explained. “Can you do that?”

 

Derek looked at the Straggletag with a dubious gaze and wrinkled his nose. “I can try.”

 

The werewolf shifted again to better open his senses. A metallic smell from the gold was the second most dominating smell in the room next to the creature. The creature smelled human-ish. The mix of pelts that made up the Straggletag’s garment included skunk’s skin, rabbits, foxes, badgers, and creature not present in the city, so Derek had to wonder how the creature had acquired them. The garment was ugly to look at, but all concealing. The so-called dragons, if that’s what they were (and Derek doubted that), were wary of the creature, but Stiles wasn’t. The human was relaxed with the smells of youth grinding up against adulthood.

 

Although they were practically the same, this version of Stiles still smelled different. His emotions were different. His fear smelled different. There was always a hint of wonder in his terror. There was a sense of detachment too, like because he had died once death wasn’t something that scared him. Derek thought of death with resignation and secretly hoped that there was not Heaven or Hell waiting. He hoped that life came from nothing and returned to nothing because that was more comforting than thinking life and the soul kept going. He was too tired for that to be comforting. He was too scared to face his family even if they forgave him for all his mistakes.

 

Another thing about Stiles was he smelled so fresh, for lack of a better term. He was clean and unburdened by tough choices in the past. Derek had seen the other pack members, Scott especially, bask in that aura. It gave them hope when they were teetering on the edge of madness.

 

Derek closed his eyes and took another breath. The Straggletag had slowed her drumming to complement the concentration he needed for his search. The smell of flowers tickled his nose and the room spun for a moment in elegant circles. He could almost hear The-Fox-of-the-Snowy-Mountains giggling his ears. _Damn tricksters_.

The werewolf’s eyes opened and zeroed in on a shining blue stone twinkling mischievously among its fellows. Derek picked up the stone and saw that it was shaped like a cylinder, like the ruby whistle had been. The flower smell tickled his nose again to confirm Derek’s hunch. He turned around and tucked the tiny gem behind Stiles ear before he could think about it.

 

“This?” Stiles asked curiously. He examined the gem in his hands before looking helplessly at the Straggletag. “The fairy swallowed the ruby whistle. Do I have to do that?”

 

“Magic.” The Straggletag reminded gleefully. “Your eyes may yet deceive you.”

 

“Huh.” Stiles looked at the gem again and blinked as he saw a faint line near one end. His eyes lit up when he saw the trick. He uncapped the gem to reveal the nectar hidden within. Before he could second guess himself Stiles swallowed the sweet contents and felt a warm sensation coat his throat.

 

“It’s that easy?” Stiles asked with a gasp. “I just… then I… really???”

 

“It’s not easy,” the Straggletag said. “It’s not something everyone can do because they don’t remember how. How easily people forget the power of the **Word**.”

 

Finally the creature stood up and stretched. The ugly pelts receded about an inch to show furry feet and slender wrists. One the creature had stretched out the remaining kinks in its spine it started towards the entrance and said, “Now let’s see about these dragons.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You were supposed to be rid of the creature!” the first dragon exclaimed horrified as the Straggletag slipped into the sunlight.

 

“Rude,” Stiles scoffed. “What, you expected me to kill the Straggletag or something? At least somebody doesn’t threaten to sic hunters on me.”

 

“Rude indeed,” agreed the Straggletag. “This hoard is mine.”

 

“This was our cousin’s hoard!” the dragons objected. “He’s dead so we’ve come to collect it.”

 

“Distant cousin.” the Straggletag corrected. “By law of inheritance it should be mine, not yours. So leave, before I make you and leave these children alone.”

 

“What inheritance?” Stiles asked sensing he was missing part of the picture.

 

Once again he could hear the smirk in the Straggletag’s voice when it said, “You never asked me what I was committed for.”

 

“Ah,” Stiles realized that was indeed an oversight on his part.

 

The two dragons, however, looked like they were about to breath fire on somebody, but the Straggletag’s sigh stopped them. A sorrowful whistle sounded from the Straggletag calling a flock of birds down to where the dragon’s stood. The dragons hissed at the intruding birds, but the birds ignored the dragons in favor of perching on the Straggletag. The birds pecked and pruned the Straggletag until the furry garments unraveled and her hair draped down her back almost to the young woman’s knees.

 

Stiles gasped in awe of the transformation. Human the woman might have been, but her glare was equal match to the two dragons. They took a half a step back and looked at the woman uneasily. She was dressed in a wedding dress that was colored midnight blue and sparkled like stars. There were tears in the Straggletag’s eyes as she stared down the dragon pair.

 

“Is it not enough that I had to lose my husband, but I must lose his worldly treasures too?” The Straggletag demanded to know. The dragons flinched at her tone, but composed themselves after a moment.

 

“My lady, you would compare the value of our cousin to stones dug from the earth?” The first dragon tried. “Are you saying he has a price?”

 

“How dare-“ Stiles was about to interrupt but the woman raised her hand to silence him.

 

“I would gladly give up every ounce of gold and every gem if it returned my husband to me whole and completely,” the Straggletag snapped. “But that is not the currency used by those with the power to do so.”

 

“Dear lady,” the dragon started to say, but something in the Straggletag’s expression silenced him quickly.

 

“What currency is that?” Derek asked guardedly. “Who promised you what?”

 

“The Poor-man’s-weather-glass offered a prize for the one who could teach this one magic,” the Straggletag pointed to Stiles. “I win so I get my prize. It’s not my husband’s life, but it’s enough to protect his hoard from _scavengers_.” She said the last word with such venom the men around her flinched.

 

“Me?” Stiles asked after a moment.

 

The Straggletag nodded and gathered the animal pelts at her feet. “You know what the voice of authority sounds like. Make them leave.”

 

“Oh.” Stiles cleared his throat and tried to do an imitation of his dad’s best sheriff’s voice. He recited what he assumed was the typical “thou shalt not harass people” speal and sure enough it worked. The dragons looked certifiably chastised and retreated peacefully.

 

Stiles elbowed Derek playfully saying, “Dude, I could be like the best cop ever!”

 

“Don’t call me dude.”

 

“Now I need to ask you to leave me with my grief.” The Straggletag said with the furs gathered in her arms. “Your pack probably needs you.”

 

“I have magic now.” Stiles grinned. “Well, I’ve always had it, but now I know how to control it. So thanks.”

 

“There is none needed,” the Straggletag told him. “I didn’t say it didn’t come with a price.”

 

Before Stiles could ask he heard the unmistakable sound of a banshee’s scream.

 

* * *

 

“Stiles! You’re okay!” Scott finally relaxed when he saw that his best friend and Derek had returned to the house unharmed.

 

“Peachy, peachy,” Stiles assured the young alpha. “We heard Lydia. Is everything okay here?”

 

Scott shook his head sadly. “The pack is safe, but…” He trailed off and turned his body so Stiles could see the slumped figure of Deputy Parrish sitting on the couch/Stiles’s bed with nothing on but a blanket around his shoulders. Mrs. McCall walked into the room with some extra clothes for the man which she set down the table.

 

“We were too late,” Scott explained. “By the time we got there the building was completely engulfed. We were lucky we weren’t spotted by the fire department.”

 

“How did he make is out?” Derek asked.

 

“We don’t know.” Scott replied. “He doesn’t know. No burns, there’s not even a scratch on him.” Scott looked at Stiles quizzically. “Do you think he’s a dragon?”

 

“Maybe?” Stiles studied the man. He looked exhausted and blank, like it hadn’t set in that his best friend was dead and that he was just waiting to wake up from a nightmare. “Or he could be something else.”

 

“You don’t smell sad.” Derek noted.

 

Stiles shrugged. “I mean, I didn’t really know her. She gave me a few magic pointers, but… jeeze, why to hunters have to be such bastards? I guess I’m more angry than anything. I wish I could tell them to go to Hell and make it stick.” He then added, “If it was one of you guys then Hell would have no furry like mine. I’m thinking glacier pace deaths probably backed up by pages of research on torture techniques my dad probably wouldn’t approve of.”

 

Derek was sure he was just imagining the sudden drop in the room’s temperature.

 

Mr. Stilinski sat down  next to Parrish and handed over a cell phone. “We found this in the alley.”

 

“It’s hers.” The deputy said. It took him two tries, but he was able to guess the password. The background was of the witch holding a black and white munchkin kitten. “She’s allergic, but cats just love her anyway. She was complaining that her eyes itched the whole drive back from the shelter when we…”  

 

The deputy’s jaw wobbled and his hands shook as he stared down at the phone. “I’ve lost friends in combat, but I never thought… How could this happen here? You said they were hunters, but what the hell were they looking for?”

 

“They say they hunt monsters,” Mr. Stilinki explained. “There are things out there that the law can’t handle or can’t explain. You know what they say about the man who hunts monsters.”

 

“We’re not monsters,” Scott turned and flashed his alpha eyes at the deputy. Isaac, Erica, and Derek also flashed their eyes in response to their alpha. “We’re people, too, but sometimes the law isn’t good enough.”

 

“What are you?” Parrish asked.

 

“Werewolves.”

 

“Priest, actually, if you want to get technical.” Stiles chipped in.

 

“Banshee.” Lydia added.

 

“Parents worried half out of their minds usually,” Mrs. McCall added.

 

“Okay.” Parrish looked around the room and then asked, “So, what am I?”

 

“That we don’t know,” Scott told him. “But if you want we could help you find out.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Stiles was dreaming, but it was a good dream and an exciting dream. He could feel his god reaching out to him. In the dream Stiles was sitting in a field of flowers of white, blue, and orange._

_“Poor-man’s-weather-glass,” Stiles said as he looked at the flowers. They were beautiful and he was squinting at them to try and remember where he had seen the flower before._

_“They seek him here, they seek him there,” an amused voice said behind him. “Those frenchies seek him everywhere. Is he in heaven? Is he in hell?”_

_“That illusive Pimpernel.” Stiles finished and turned. His god had taken the form of a young English gentleman with Stiles’s face and blue eyes that twinkled._

_After a tip of his had and a bow the god leaned leisurely against a fashionable cane and said, “I must say I enjoy all the good press that silly little book has to offer.”_

_“Dude, the Scarlet Pimpernel was like the original Batman.” Stiles smiled. “Too bad Derek’s god didn’t turn out to be like Zorro.”_

_“And Scott’s could have been Sun Wukong making for the best literary mash-up ever imagined,” the Pimpernel agreed. “Pity. Oh, well. Perhaps next time.”_

_The god leaned forward slightly to better look Stiles in the eye and said, “I am here to discuss the payment for my services.”_


	7. Hell Has No Fury

Stiles was awake and staring at the living room windows from where he rested on his side. The blinds were closed, but still allowed for the headlights of the morning’s earliest of commuters to sneak through the slats. His blanket had scooted down sometime in the night to only cover just below Stiles’s knees. Goosebumps on his skin made the human shiver in the predawn chill.

 

“I can tell you’re awake,” his wolfy roommate complained. Stiles heard rather than saw Derek turn his head to face the human.

 

“My thoughts aren’t that loud.” Stiles muttered.

 

“Yes they are.”

 

“Oh, yeah?” Stiles challenged.

 

Stiles sat up on the couch with a muffled groan so he could glare at the werewolf with his arms crossed. Stiles could feel his hair sticking up in odd places from the static on his lumpy couch/bed. Going by Derek’s unimpressed look Stiles could only assume he looked more comical than threatening. “Wanna tell me what I’m thinking, wolf-guy?”

 

As if he really was reading Stiles’s mind Derek raised a “you idiot,” eyebrow and pulled the covers aside in invitation. Stiles forced his pulse to stay even by thinking about his dad and Mrs. McCall making out (something they didn’t do, but should totally do because they had so much in common like supernaturally inclined sons, traumatic experiences and, okay, maybe it was just wishful thinking because then Scott would be Stiles’s real bros if their parents hooked up). Stiles got as far as planning their parents’ imaginary wedding before he came back to the reality that he was _snuggling_ Derek Hale.

 

Stiles pictured himself stuffing any unnecessary superlatives his brain decided to unhelpfully add to Derek’s name down into that deep dark place in his mind with the turtle shaped padlock. Stiles thought darkly, _Stupid fairies and their stupid curses,_ as Derek covered him in the blanket. Derek’s breath tickled the hair by Stiles’s ear making the human vow to take a razor to it and keep his hair short until Stiles was thirty.

 

The werewolf huffed. “Go back to sleep Stiles.”

 

“You’re like a heater, dude.” Stiles complained.

 

“You were shivering earlier,” Derek pointed out. “Shut up, stop over thinking, and go back to sleep. We still have a few hours before the rest of the pack gets up.”

 

“You know they’re going to say something about this.” Stiles waved between them to indicate the cuddling situation.

 

“I promise to kick you out before your masculinity is threatened.”

 

“You act like it’s not a big deal.” Stiles whined. “You don’t even like me!”

 

“I think you’re annoying as hell, but I don’t hate you.” Derek corrected.

 

“Not hating is a long way from _cuddling_.”

 

“Not if it keeps you from dying a horrible death because of a fairy curse.” The werewolf sighed again. “You’re not going to be able to sleep, are you?”

 

“That ship is long sailed, dude.”

 

“Stop calling me ‘dude’.”

 

Stiles was able to keep his mouth shut for about a minute before he had to ask. “Is this a pack thing? Touching?”

 

“Yeah, I bet the Alpha’s get really touchy feely,” Derek muttered sarcastically. “It’s only awkward because you keep _drawing attention to it_.”

 

“So, not a pack thing.”

 

“Stiles,” Derek growled. “Stop reading shit on the internet. Werewolves are just like humans. The only time that’s _ever_ in question is when we go feral or can’t control the shift.”

 

“Do you know where werewolves came from then?”

 

“No, but there are stories,” Derek explained. “In all the stories I’ve heard werewolves are humans who transformed into wolves, not the other way around.”

 

“So no butt sniffing--Ow!” Stiles yelped when Derek pinched him in retaliation.

 

“You need to stop using the internet as your _primary_ source,” Derek reprimanded. “Our senses and our abilities are the only things that make us different from humans. Some werewolves think that makes us better than humans and some humans think that makes us sub-human. Neither of those is correct. I hugged my pack because they were my _family_. Humans already have a pack-like mentality so our wolf side only reinforces instincts that were there to start with.”

 

Stiles thought about what the hunters did, what hunters were still doing to werewolves – _people_ in Stiles mind- and a wave of nausea flipped the teenager’s stomach like a pancake. Derek looked down at him quizzically making Stiles wonder what his heart had done just then. He figured it was dramatic. Stiles forced his drowsy form to slide off the pull-out bed. Stiles stretched to try and pass his unease off as morning stiffness. There was no way he was going back to sleep so Stiles decided to get up and start making breakfast for the pack. Probably pancakes because pancakes were easy.

 

“Did the fox ever tell you what it wanted in return for brining you back to life?” Stiles asked as the started over to the kitchen.

 

“No, it said it just wants me as a bargaining chip.” Derek leaned on his elbow to watch Stiles stumble along nearly face planting into a wall before feeling around awkwardly for a light switch.

 

“Somehow I don’t think that’s the whole story,” Stiles muttered.

 

The living room had a clear view of the kitchen and if Derek wasn’t going to back to sleep either Stiles could use him to bounce ideas off of until the human could see the whole picture. Some flour escaped the mixing bowl as Stiles flailed around gathering all the ingredients he needed for pancakes. Rather than clean up the spill Stiles dusted the dark countertop with a white layer and wrote “fox” and “monkey” with his finger. To represent his god Stiles doodled a flower in the flour.

 

“Nothing and nothing.” Stiles muttered. “First ancestor is our only clue, but…”

 

“But?” Derek prompted as he leaned against the door frame. “Did you figure something out?”

 

“My god is from Europe, yours is from North America, and Scott’s is probably from Asia.” Stiles explained. “I was just wondering if that was important. Why is Beacon Hills so important anyway?”

 

“Unfortunately my Alpha died before telling me.” Derek said speaking of his family distantly to soften the reality of his words.

 

“But Peter would know?”

 

“Even if he did, he wouldn’t tell us and we wouldn’t ask.” Derek snapped darkly. “I killed him once.”

 

“And he killed your sister and you both probably regret it.” Stiles replied.

 

Derek growled softly. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Peter doesn’t love his family. He loves power.”

 

“Just because he loves power _more_ doesn’t mean he doesn’t love his family less.” Stiles tried to reason.

 

“Why are you defending him? He killed you!” Derek snapped.

 

Stiles paused to think a minute before turning to look at the werewolf. Stiles had no idea what he was feeling so he could only imagine what was showing on his face. He tried to keep his expression blank, but whatever Derek saw it made the werewolf pause.

 

“No, he didn’t.” Stiles said quietly. “I died in a car crash. I was being a jerk to Scott for like most of the year because of some shit I had gotten into with the jerks at school. It’s funny, you know, how insignificant that seems compared to all the shit you guys had to deal with. It was like my last chance to salvage whatever friendship we had left and I _died_. It was an accident, but if I think about Scott and my Dad and what that probably did to them I’ll go crazy.”

 

Derek retreated half a step. 

 

“I don’t know if this is heaven, hell or what. Scott’s like a super badass. My dad is barely holding himself together, but that’s a miracle in itself really.” Stiles sighed. “And I don’t even _know_ Peter. You guys talk about him like he’s some medieval aristocrat vying for power because that’s just how he plays the game. I’m not saying he’s not a crazy psycho, but I’m an outsider in all this.”

 

“Sorry. I seem to be forgetting that.” Derek shrank back a little. “This isn’t your fight.”

 

“That’s not what I’m saying at all!” Stiles shouted at him. “Even if I’m coming in medias res you’re still my friends! We’ve been on the run together for months now! The ancient gods say we have a great quest to overcome _together_! How does that not make use friends?”

 

Derek was saved from making a response when the rest of the back stumbled into the kitchen drawn in by the smell of pancakes.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles felt a disturbance in the force. Well, it wasn’t _the_ Force, Force, like in movies. It was more like being pushed or repelled by whims that were oddly fortuitous. If everyone was attached to the membrane of the universe by strings it was like Stiles was more tuned in to how the strings moved, but he couldn’t tell yet who was moving what string or why and what he needed to do to counter that. The universe had become a three dimensional game of chess with an infinite number of players and the pieces made up all of their own rules. It gave Stiles a headache to think about.

 

A good player on a good day could make the strings line up perfectly into a distinguishable pattern. On a bad day, everything seemed to surrender to chaos. To keep himself sane, Stiles spent less time reading over Wikipedia articles and made flash cards of obscure and archaic words. Since he would be using English as his medium for prayer it was a good idea to study up. The more precise his language skills were, the better results he would be able to obtain from the divine aid.

 

Around the kitchen table the rest of the pack was working on homework. Stiles had homework too, but he was procrastinating. If he could do it in less than five minutes it didn’t really matter when he finished, did it? Out of the corner of his eye Stiles could see Erica suppress a half snarl half sigh before she slammed her pen on the table startling everyone when the ink splattered across Isaac’s text book.

 

“Erica!” Isaac snapped.

 

“We need to go to the beach or something!” Erica declared. “All this hiding feels so stifling! We need a change of pace.”

 

“I agree,” Lydia said. “A beach day might be good for the pack.”

 

“I don’t _disagree_.” Scott nodded hesitantly. “But we shouldn’t lower our guard.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, the whole damn world is out to get us,” Erica replied sarcastically. “That’s exactly why we need to go and enjoy ourselves. If that’s even still possible.”

 

“Derek’s going to say ‘no’.” Isaac pointed out.

 

“Derek’s a funsucker and Derek isn’t the _alpha_.”

 

“Still…” Isaac shrugged. “I mean. When has anything ever worked out for us? What if we’re just setting ourselves up for disappointment?”

 

“Welcome to life, Isaac. Did you actually think it was going to get any better? You’re a fucking werewolf. That’s as good as it gets.” Erica tapped a claw against the table. “If you don’t want to go, then don’t go. Plain and simple.”

 

“No I want to go.”

 

“Do we really need a show of hands?”

 

The answer to that was ‘no’ because the young pack members were all in agreement that a break would be nice. It would be really nice to have some time to, no forget exactly, but just not think about hunters, alpha packs, dark druids, and certainly about gods.

 

Stiles said nothing. He felt a tug, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out from where or if it was an omen to move forward or a warning to retreat.

 

* * *

 

“Wow, you have a crappy love fortune.” A world weary voice commented in a bored tone. Stiles looked over at the person who had spoken and saw a mobile kiosk manned by a woman concealed from head to toe in black complete with a vail. The human blinked. It was a strange outfit for the warm weather.

 

“You don’t seem like a witch.” Stiles said. He didn’t think there had been other coven nearby. Actually, since he thought about it, the fact that there wasn’t a local coven was probably a reason to worry. Something bigger and meaner than a dragon probably kept the local supernatural in line.

 

Werewolves probably made up about two percent of the world’s population. The rest of the supernatural stock probably made up closer to one percent, but out of seven billion that was still a significant number of people and they liked to cluster together and form loose alliances at best. So, while Stiles could guess that for every thousand humans there were ten supernaturals, the actual number varied. Doing a mental count in his head Stiles realized he was just running around in mental circles.

 

“I’m not a witch.” The kiosk keeper said, “And although it makes me sad when I lose a friendly competitor, I know better than to poke my nose into the business of dragons.”

 

“Does everybody know about that?” Stiles asked. “Does that mean they know about me?”

 

“The little novice priest running around with a merry band of fuzzies?” the kiosk woman said lightly. “You couldn’t be more obvious if you were wearing a neon sign.”

 

“Fuck.”

 

“Not my specialty.” The kiosk owner segued. “I only do romance.” She tapped a small painted sign on the side of her stall that read, “Free sample w/ tea reading.”

 

“You’re a fortune teller?”

 

“That’s not the word I’d use, but sure.”

 

“Right, magic types are always weird.” Stiles looked around. The rest of the pack had gone into the store to look for swimsuits and beach supplies. Stiles figured they were close enough that if he screamed they would be back in an instant. The human figured it was better to make nice with the local weirds, so he sat down at one of the two stools and nodded at the shopkeeper.

 

“Free sample right? There’s no crack in it right?” Stiles asked with good humor.

 

“Well, _I’m_ addicted to the caffeine since I can’t stand coffee.” The woman admitted.

 

“Blasphemy,” Stiles retorted. “Do people really come to you for romantic advice? Wait, you said my prospects sucked!”

 

“Oh, I’ve seen worse. It’s just that ‘true love’ is exceptionally rare.” The woman explained, “And it requires a perfectly complementary alinements in the couple’s physical, sexual, romantic, and spiritual natures. Fairytales are selling you short. There are many ways to love another person that are equally, if not more, fulfilling as quote, unquote, ‘true love’.”

 

The fortuneteller paused and looked over the teenager’s shoulder. Stiles followed her gaze and saw Isaac standing there watching them with his arms crossed. It gave the human a wicked idea.

 

“Isaac!” Stiles waved the werewolf over. “Perfect timing! Look! Free samples!”

 

Isaac looked the least interested in whatever the kiosk was selling, but the woman’s gaze drew him in and the wolf approached warily. “ _Tea_ reading?”

 

“You don’t see me making fun of your hobbies.” The woman was probably smirking as she said it. Isaac blushed looking chastised. “I can do you both and make myself a cup while we’re at it. I could use a break.”

 

Stiles watched with interest as the woman selected a mahogany jar from the shelf. The container was cylinder in shape with different flowers and plants carved into the wood. Stiles wondered if the carvings were the equivalent of an ingredient list. The woman used a small hot plate to heat up three cups of water in a beaker until the liquid simmered and then double checked the temperature with a small thermometer.

 

In front of the young men she placed an iron tea pot on a decorative pot holder. Under the pot’s lid was a small basket where she placed the loose tea leaves. Stiles noted that the woman was very careful not to touch the tea with her hands and used wooden utensils wherever she could. He remembered that magic relied heavily on belief. If there was a single doubt in her process the woman would be unable to correctly perform the task at hand. Stiles also wondered if the woman knew of any other tricks or if she was limited to the knowledge of the herbs and jars around her.

 

“There,” the woman said with a fond expression directed at the brewing pot. The tea pot was decorated with oriental designs with a sort of zen feel to them.

 

“Are there different kinds of dragons?” Stiles asked suddenly after admiring the designs.

 

The woman looked up. “Of course. Their rank is determined by the number of claws they have in their natural form. Five is highest, but three clawed dragons are also well respected. Four and two clawed dragons are lower in rank and are best avoided.”

 

“You say that like I should have known that,” Stiles grumbled. “We stole our intel from hunters and they barely even mention dragons.”

 

“There’s a lot hunters don’t know or choose to ignore,” the woman said.

 

The tea was done brewing after a few minutes so she poured a small amount into each of their cups before placing the pot off to the side. Isaac sniffed the beverage cautiously, but Stiles sipped immediately and burnt his tongue. The tea seller giggled at them both.

 

“How is it?” she asked with faux innocence.

 

“Not what I thought it would be,” Stiles admitted. “What’s in this?”

 

The drink was an acquired taste to be sure and unlike anything he could remember. The flavor was musky and thick on his tongue. It tasted a little like coffee honestly, something he needed to get through the day that others paid high prices for just to take for granted.

 

Isaac finally braved a sip and gave the cup the most adorable perplexed look before sipping the tea again.

 

“Allow me,” the woman said before snatching the cup out of Stiles hands before he could finish. The woman let the last few drops of tea fall on her tongue and she gave Stiles a thoughtful look. “mmm, interesting.”

 

“Oy!” Stiles looked despairingly at the empty cup. “You have your own.”

 

“Indeed,” the woman replied and she pushed her cup towards Stiles before relieving Isaac of his drink.

 

Stiles gave the woman a resentful look before drinking the tea from her cup. He blinked confused and then took another sip. Stiles took a third sip to be sure and said, “This is just water.”

 

“I know,” the woman was obviously hiding a smirk. “Are you ready to hear your fortunes?”

 

Before the two men could replay she pointed a finger at Isaac while still holding his cup in her hand. “You,” she said, “You’re confused by love and seek to avoid it, but in doing so you’re only adding to the discord of your life. When you’re young that’s fine, but in the coming years such habits will only serve you ill.”

 

Isaac didn’t say anything and just stared at her.

 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Geeze, cryptic much?”

 

“Oh, he knows exactly what I mean,” the woman retorted. “He’s already been told of this.”

 

“You have?” Stiles looked questioningly at Isaac. The werewolf didn’t answer and Stiles shrugged. “We’re surrounded by tricksters.”

 

That made woman chuckle. “Oh, how fun. Again that explains so much about your fates. When you first tasted my tea it was bitter, right? The flavor is a clue to what kind of love you need. Normally my customers get something boring like black tea or chai. Girl-next-door or exotic fling.”

 

“What favor was our tea?” Stiles asked.

 

“Bitter. Strong. Complex and oh so perfect. My _favorite_ flavor.”  The woman said.

 

* * *

 

 

Going to the beach turned out to be the best idea. Seeing the betas run around like puppies was funny as hell in Stiles mind and for once things feel almost normal. The sand was perfect, the water was cold, but perfect for countering the afternoon sun. It’s not quite tourist season so the werewolves can snarl and flash their eyes at each without traumatizing anyone.

 

Stiles and Scott hadn’t done many beach trips growing up just because of how busy their single parents were. Mrs. McCall and Mr. Stilinski both seemed to be enjoying themselves watching their teenagers be teenagers again. Derek played along grudgingly until Erica and Isaac drew their former alpha into a splash fight. Stiles was amazed by how easily the two could make Derek smile, but they were his pack after all. That thought prodded at Stiles’s heart making it hurt a little. The human didn’t like being useless so he turned his attention to the sand, the sea, and the sunny sky; three things that made the day perfect.

 

 _Three things,_ Stiles pondered as he waded a little deeper into the water. For fun he dove through the next wave. _Three things. Three gods._

 

When Stiles came up for air he saw the tattoo on Derek’s back. The three spirals the Hale pack had adopted as their symbol drew Stiles in for a moment tempting the human with the promise of understanding. Three was undoubtedly an important number. The Romans would say that “everything that comes in three is perfect”.

 

A sudden harsh wave knocked the human over sweeping the feet from underneath him. Stiles coughed as water choked his lungs and Stiles could feel the undertow pulling him away from shore.

 

Stiles didn’t panic. He knew this. Instead of fighting the current Stiles let himself be dragged and swam parallel to the shore. After a few fast strokes Stiles felt the pull lessen and he could swim back to land. He was way too skinny to be tempting to sharks, hopefully. Just before Stiles could stand up and walk to the beach he felt another strong pull. He gasped in exhaustion swam further trying to get out of the undertow. He couldn’t hear is friends laughing anymore.

 

“My, my, having some difficulty?” a faux pleasant voice inquired.

 

“Shit.” Stiles muttered. It was the fairy, the one he had given the ruby whistle to, who was taunting him. “I’m fine. Damn, water, let me get to shore!”

 

“Naturally I wouldn’t want to harm you.” The fairy backstroked easily in the waves and stared at Stiles greedily. “But I have my own interests to look out for, you see.”

 

“I’m a little busy!”

 

“I could help you.”

 

“No! I’m fine!”

 

“Rude.” The fairy scoffed. “All I need is a little information. Interrogations are no fun unless you cooperate.”

 

Stiles fought valiantly for air. His pleading eyes must have been enough for the fairy. She single-handedly yanked Stiles’s head above water and held them up together. Panic was bubbling just under the human’s skin.

 

The fairy asked darkly, “Who killed the dragon? You spoke with his _wife._ " The fairy treated the word like venom on her tongue. "Did she say who killed him?”

 

“She didn’t say!” Stiles exclaimed exasperated. “Why does it matter?”

 

“Why does it matter?” the fairy shrieked. “Whatever it was killed a fucking dragon! A noble dragon! Not just a pesky wyvern! That kind of power? Was it the thing of the Void?”

 

“I DON’T KNOW!” Stiles tried to shake himself loose.

 

“Pity,” the fairy grumbled as she released her grip as a wicked smirk drew her lips back. Stiles instantly sank before he could paddle himself up to the surface. His limbs were starting to noodle-out on him. He was starting to doubt his ability to make it to shore. Actually, Stiles felt completely turned around and wasn’t even sure which direction the beach was anymore. He coughed and sputtered as a wave broke over his head and the edges of his vision were getting dark.

"Humans are so rigid with their solar days," the fairy said thoughtfully. "If you were of the fae time would be more... well, open to interpretation. You think of a day as midnight to midnight, but it is always midnight somewhere, hm?" Seemingly inspired the fairy said, "A gift in in order I think"

 

"Don't you dare!" Stiles sputtered. The fairy's magic was making him itch all over. "That contract is between me and Phil! You have no business interfering-" 

 

"I'm merely pointing out the flaw in your contract. I don't suppose you got it in writing?" the fairy asked sweetly. "You see, for me, I think it's a 'new day" every time I wake up. Think of how much more optimistic humanity would be if they adopted this point of view? I will reduce your sentence, but to do so I must chose an appropriate measurement. A mayfly should do. I believe that if it is _not_ a pack member who embraces you upon wakefulness, your deal is void. My curse has _first_ priority after all."

 

A flash of bright red caught his eye as a strong arm began pulling Stiles to what he hoped was safety. “Hold on, easy breaths,” an authoritative voice instructed and Stiles began to panic.

 

“No, no. Stay calm,” the lifeguard said as Stiles vision blurred. The fairy was gone, but Stiles could feel the magic remain. He needed to counter it. He knew, he _believed _,__ that "days" were from sunrise to sunset. The fairy's magic pushed back and hummed with temptation. Against his will Stiles started overthinking. The tiniest seed of doubt had been planted.

 

 _No, no!_ Stiles could feel his consciousness slipping. Somehow Stiles knew that if he blacked out and woke up for even a second in the life guard’s grip before his pack could save him then- _then!_

 

If he survived Stiles would laugh at the irony.

 

He would have been free of the stipulation in _three_ days.

 

Instead Stiles felt himself pass out thinking, _why do fairies have to be such assholes_

 

 

_**To be continued...** _


	8. Fox on Trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the delay, but life got in the way. I can't make any promises about a timely release, but I still have several ideas for this fic so it won't be dropped. enjoy!

 

Stiles’s limbs felt numb, but the human knew he was still alive. Death didn’t feel like anything.

 

The fairy’s cursed words bounced around inside his head. The human tried to block out the spell, but Stiles was too inexperienced. The boy’s lousy, high school level confidence was like a candle while the fairy had the ego the size of a hydrogen blimp.

 

Stiles remembered the deal Phil proposed and yes a “day” wasn’t midnight to midnight. It was wakefulness to wakefulness. Naps didn’t count. Blacking out didn’t count. Stiles had to go to true sleep. When the human woke up Stiles needed to embrace the first pack member he saw. The point of doing this was to ground him. It gave the fairy contract a focus. Without the focus, Stiles would be dragged back to the labyrinth.

 

Stiles and Scott had agreed to be cautious. Stiles insisted on embracing the focus-pack member first, before all others. What he hadn’t realized was that by doing so he had altered the spell himself. His caution would be his own undoing it seemed.

 

Stiles opened his eyes with a gasp and four worried faces stared down at him from where he lay on the stretcher. _Shit_ , he thought unable to tell which face had caught his eye first. It was too close to call.

 

Was it Isaac? Erica? Scott or his dad? Stiles didn’t know and the clock was ticking. What was a day to a mayfly? Did mayflies even sleep? Stiles could recite many silly facts about any number of odd creatures both real and imaginary, but he couldn’t remember one damn thing about mayflies when he needed the knowledge the most.

 

Regardless of all that, Stiles knew what he had to do. Stiles reached for his father and hugged him tightly.

 

“I’ll be okay,” Stiles promised.

 

“Stiles,” his father’s voice choked and Stiles felt his chest ache.

 

 _Damn fairies_. Stiles thought as the world shifted around him in an all too familiar way.

 

* * *

 

 

A sharp whistle shriller than any alarm clock Stiles had ever known yanked him into full wakefulness. Stiles blinked against the unexpected light that was oddly out of place in Phil’s labyrinth. Stiles instinctively reached for his staff to fight off whatever was hurting his eyes, but realized he had left the enchanted object at home. If Stiles survived, he promised himself no matter how silly he looked, Stiles wasn’t leaving home without his staff again. He’d wear a fake leg brace if that’s what it took.

 

Once the human’s eyes had adjusted Stiles found himself staring into the brown eyes of a fuzzy and familiar face. Stiles blinked a few times then said, “Oh, it’s you.”

 

The monkey god grinned.

 

“This is most convenient,” the monkey said more to itself than Stiles. “I was just on my way to trial, but I can send you instead.”

 

“… _Pardon_?”

 

The monkey crossed its arms and looked at Stiles with a thoughtful expression. “Our little fox-friend has run into a bit of trouble and you’re going to get them out.”

 

Stiles stared at the monkey blankly before demanding to know, “ _How_?!”

 

“Think fast, human. I could just leave you here to rot.” The monkey said disdainfully. “The silly flower isn’t _my_ friend. It’s fox who owes the damn thing a few favors. I shouldn’t even have agreed to the deal, but the fox insisted that three sets of brains were better than two.”

 

The monkey marched off and Stiles scrambled to follow.

 

“What sort of trial are we talking about?” the human asked. “The only thing I can picture is the scene from Alice in Wonderland. What sort of woodland creatures are we talking about here?”

 

The monkey’s mood shifted from irate to amused. “You’re not far off. Which, now that I think about it means you’ll need a disguise.” The monkey tapped her chin with long, apeish fingers.

 

* * *

 

 

Draped in fine silks that weighed on the fox like iron chains the godly creature half listened to the list of crimes that the opposition felt it fitting to list before the court. The fox huffed and rolled sarcastic glances with each note. The bushy-tailed creature didn’t know how many times it had to explain that the gift of fire and the written word falling into the hands of humanity were not its fault. Granted the fox hadn’t hindered the other tricksters in their exploits. They were still technically not the fox’s fault.

 

However, the fox could see why the other gods might be a tad upset (still after even a few thousand years) that the divine gifts had fallen into what could be considered the wrong hands. With the gift of fire came cooking and that was a dangerous tool for any creature. Cooked food was more efficient to digest meaning the energy could be used elsewhere by the body, like the by mind. Once human minds were developed they could speak and have complex languages and cultures making them ripe for other gifts. Writing allowed information to withstand time itself. All things considered humans had what could be seen as a very unfair advantage over their fellow creatures.

 

The greater concern, though, was humanity’s influence on the stalemate between the Word and the Void.

 

The Fox wrinkled its nose in distaste. But those were fairy things, _human_ things. The Fox wasn’t interested in those matters. Silly things like “good” and “evil” didn’t matter to a fox. That’s really all the fox had to prove to be dismissed from court. A deity couldn’t in good conscious persecute another for simply acting as its nature dictated. God or no, the fox was not above its nature.

 

“Psst!” a hushed voice hissed in urgency.

 

The fox’s first impulse was to ignore the summons, but the ancestral deity was bored by the long winded speeches and spared a glance downward. A white rabbit with brown spots and amber-brown eyes stared back. The rabbit’s nose twitched with nervous energy that teased the fox’s hunter instincts. The fox smiled down at the interloper with a predatory grin.

 

“Oh, you’ve brought lunch I see.”

 

The rabbit squeaked in protest. “It’s me!” the rabbit insisted.

 

“I know so many ‘mes’ it’s really hard to keep them all straight you know.” The fox trolled.

 

“I met the monkey bitch in the labyrinth,” the prey animal said as if that explained anything.  The rabbit’s glare was not nearly as threatening as he believed.

 

“Ah, monkey magic.” The fox mused. “I was wondering what that loathsome smell was.”

 

“Yeah, smells like ass, I know.” The rabbit huffed and the fox cackled softly.

 

The fox’s accusers were still droning among each other possible amendments to the list of crimes. Two of the other ancestors were bickering back and forth as one refused to let his fellow get a word in edgewise. Anyone who tried to speak up in the fox’s defense was instantly hushed. A modest few had tried, though, to the fox’s satisfaction.

 

The fox sighed. “So she sends me a rabbit. In other times I could appreciate the sense of humor.”

 

“Why are you on trial anyway?” Rabbit-Stiles asked.

 

The fox spared the room a condescending look. “This isn’t a trial. This is a circus.”

 

Rabbit-Stiles pondered for a moment. “If you didn’t do anything, why are you on trial?”

 

“Oh, I did _something_.” The fox admitted. “Just not what they’re accusing me of. They can’t prove what I actually did.” The fox added before Stiles could ask, “I’d tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”

 

“Oh. No. I’m good.” Stiles insisted. “So, how do we get out of here?”

 

To Stiles’s rabbit eyes the court room looked normal enough. Well, the room was what would have passed for normal several hundred years ago. Stiles figured it was a case of not fixing what wasn’t broken. That or there were still godly meetings that were still in progress from several hundred years ago.

 

“I thought that’s what you were here for.” The fox drawled.

 

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” The human-turned-rabbit hissed. “Vouch for your, oh so charming, character?”

 

“ _I wish that I could be like the cool kids, ‘cuz all the cool kids they seem to fit in_ ,” the fox sang in a falsetto voice. “But alas the lot of the trickster. Status quos were made to be broken. I’m sure you understand.”

 

“Understand what?” Stiles asked suspicious of the sudden change in conversation.

 

The fox purred. “I know what the flower asked of you. You know you’ll be hated for it.”

 

Stiles frowned as much as his rabbit form would let him. “Why would somebody hate me for _not_ letting someone die? Saving somebody’s life is a good thing.”

 

“Hm, when the time comes, ask them that,” the fox suggested. “Perhaps it will allow your friends to keep a cool head.”

 

It was Stiles’s turn to change the subject. “Why is this taking so long anyway?” He nodded towards the fox’s fellow deities who were bickering among themselves still. The court wasn’t quite as _Alice-in-wonderland_ -esque as the human-turned-rabbit had been expecting, but the sight of animals and other things together in a court was not an everyday sight to be sure.

 

The fox leaned back in its seat. “Ah,” it said, “That may be my fault.”

 

Stiles waited twitchily for the fox to elaborate. Eventually the fox gave in and admitted to a less crafty game: Lying by omission.

 

“It seems I’ve given a few people quite the wrong impression,” the fox explained. “I have a gift for remembering stories. Specifically, stories I’ve told to others. It’s like memorizing a deck of cards. Are you familiar with that trick?”

 

Stiles-the-rabbit nodded. “You associate each card with a person and then just picture them in a place you know really well. Like a house or something like that.”

 

The fox hummed in agreement. “Well, my place is sort of like a library and each person” -the fox waved to the shadowy figures scattered about the court room- “is like a section of that library. All the stories I’ve told are true, with a few minor embellishments of course.”

 

“Of course,” Stiles echoed.

 

“But judging a person merely by a few anecdotes is silly, wouldn’t you say?” the fox raised an eyebrow. “For instance, if you told someone only about your school experience, but left out the werewolves or the fact that you lost your mother at a young age…”

 

“I see you point.” Stiles agreed. “Leaving out the werewolf bit or, heck, just my weird research habits isn’t really getting a good picture.”

 

“Indeed.” The fox sighed and pointed to a random figure. “I told that soul that my hobbies were dancing and singing. A truth, but I only do both in the shower. My real hobby is being a mountain hermit.” The fox pointed to another spirit. “I’ve told that one many, many useless, but interesting bits of information (‘fun facts’ if you will), but most of those were hearsay I heard whispered on the wind.” The fox pointed to yet another. “That one thinks I’m hilarious. I only know one joke that is actually funny and the punchline is about a goat-fucker.”

 

“Oldest fox in the world and still haven’t perfected the art of schmoozing? There really is no hope for me.” Stiles drawled.

 

“Being popular is over rated.” The fox said huffily. “I should have just stuck to being a hermit.”

 

“So because a whole bunch of spirits got the totally wrong impression, you’re on trial for a bunch of stuff you didn’t do.” Stiles clarified.

 

“I did say I would be busy for a while,” the fox pointed out.

 

“Sure, ‘busy’ is one way to phrase it.” Stiles turned the situation over in his head a few times then asked, “So, why aren’t the other tricksters helping you out?”

 

“Because in order to prove that I didn’t do it, they’d have to admit that they were the ones that did,” the fox replied testily.

 

“Oooooh, so this is basically a shake down.” Stiles said. After a few nose twitches Stiles paused. “Wait. Isn’t the rabbit also a trickster?”

 

The fox froze and then slide a wicked gazed over Stiles fluffy form. “Why, yes. And how convenient is it that your scent is disguised by shitty magic?”

 

The teenager’s heart began to beat double time. “This is going to suck for me, isn’t it?”

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles quivered uncontrollably as hundreds of holy eyes gazed upon him in skepticism. Unfortunately the rabbit couldn’t clear his throat before finishing his speech with, “And so as you can see, it is I who did all those things you just listed and not the fox.”

 

“Liar!” accused one of the gods. “You’re being forced into this aren’t you? Foxes _eat_ rabbits.”

 

“Well, eye-witness testimony is the least accurate testimony there is, but it’s not like you have any hard evidence at all!” Stiles argued.

 

“Well, there is some anecdotal evidence,” the fox commented lightly. “The _Tricksters Review_.”

 

Stiles looked over at the fox and asked, “Where’d you get the laptop?!”

 

Resting on the table in front of the canid creature was a slick PC with little heart stickers marring its technological beauty. Stiles looked at the fox in confusion and the fox shrugged.

 

“Trickster,” it said as if that explained the secrets of the universe.

 

Stiles figured those kinds of gags only worked in cartoons. The fox flipped the lab top around to show the court an online magazine featuring exploits big and small of the trickster persuasion. Using a claw-like nail the fox tapped one of the little blip articles. The article outlined a rather humorous story confirming the fox as the evil master mind behind handcuffing two political rivals together for 24 hours several hundred years _before_ handcuffs were invented and conveniently at the same time as one of the court-mentioned accusations.

 

A few the other gods chuckled at the little prank which earned them harsh glares from their harsher fellows. The fox didn’t have an alibi for all the pranks, but it was enough to sway many of the court’s participants to actually listen to the fox’s defense.

 

“And the rabbit claims ownership of the other crimes?” someone inquired.

 

“I do,” Stiles said firmly while hoping they would have sense enough to finish one trial before beginning another. At the very least, Stiles felt like he deserved a head start.

 

“Very well.” A large horn covered beast stood up on two hooves. “Seize him!”

 

 _So much for that head start_ , Stiles grumbled under his breath. Rather than waiting to see if the fox would assist (Stiles didn’t count on it) the human-turned-rabbit bolted on swift feet.

 

As Stiles should have expected, the Spirit world was a strange place filled with turns and twists the human mind wasn’t prepared for. The human-turned-rabbit dodged his other worldly pursuers using his gift of unpredictably. The strategy worked until Stiles took a wrong turn down a dead end. When he turned around to correct his mistake he ran headfirst into a pair of leather boots. Stiles squeaked in alarm as a green cloak fell over him and the magic that concealed Stiles in an animal form rushed away.

 

When Stiles returned to his full height he looked down into a pair of glowing snake eyes. Behind the spirit the sounds of Stiles’s pursuers echoed and grew louder as the crowd of courtly spirits came closer. Stiles wrapped the cloak around himself as his heart beat still fluttered like a rabbit’s.

 

Just when the sound of the mob grew so close Stiles could smell the combined musk of the spirits in chase, the spirit in front of the human reached up with one hand and pulled the teen forward into a kiss. The spirit pulled back as the mob moved on and Stiles gasped. 

 

"That actually works?" he asked. "I though that was a stupid movie trick!"

 

"I may behoove you to learn the good tricks," the snake spirit said with a wry smirk. The spirit turned on her heels with flare and signaled for Stiles to follow. "Come. The tortoise has agreed to take you back to the human realm."

 

" _More_ tricksters?" Stiles sighed in resignation at the dreary prospect of his future being nothing but chaos fulled by an other's glee.


	9. Borrego and the Coyote

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not edited, sorry

Their departure from the Spirit Realm was much smoother than Stiles’s arrival. His spirit rescuer reclined with relaxed ease on the back of their transportation, a tortoise the size of a monster truck. The sizable reptile turtled along at an easy pace that left Stiles tapping his knee anxiously. To stave off his nerves Stiles studied his rescuer trying to suss-out that tiny, out-of-place detail that kept nagging Stiles's own reptilian hindbrain; specifically the part generally dedicated to sniffing out danger and identifying predators. Something about this spirit was different from the others that he had seen.

 

“You’re female!” Stiles’s exclamation slipped out before he could stop it. He slapped a hand over his mouth in relation. The spirit moved into a sitting position, which to the human eye looked a lot like a serpent shifting from a coil to ready-to-strike, and nodded generously.

 

“I am,” the spirit confessed. “True gender rarity among the spirits, as you may have seen.”

 

“Yeah, kinda,” Stiles admitted as his brain tallied up the many spirits he had seen. “Why are you…?”

 

The snake woman smiled and explained. “Most spirits are devoid of gender or switch back and forth between them. This is because they are ‘complete’ beings," she said. "It is humans who coined the term ‘soul mate’; a legend that states each person is the imperfect half to a perfect whole.”

 

The snake spirit stroked the hard shell beneath them lovingly with a look of pure affection on her face. “This tortoise spirit and I are ‘soul mates’. Together we are complete.”

 

The tortoise spirit rumbled with agreement and returned affection. Stiles glanced back and forth between the two in amazement. The human wasn’t sure what to make of such an odd pairing, but if the spirits said they were soulmates, then Stiles had little choice other than to believe them. He mentally cataloged the life lesson away for perusal at a later time.

 

“So, does that mean humans have a soulmate?” Stiles asked while secretly hoping his had strawberry blonde hair and a brilliant mind. Sure, Stiles and Lydia were more like friends now, but he had had a ten year plan in place since the 3rd grade. Stiles was nothing if not optimistic.

 

“That is an oversimplification.” The snake relayed and neatly crushed Stiles’s mini-daydream. “Humanity’s soul isn’t halved, it is _shattered_. It takes many people to make up a completed ‘soul’. You must form many relationships of all kinds throughout your lifetime to become what I and mine-own are.”

 

“Oh.” Stiles slumped. “I guess that makes sense.”

 

“There is an old religion that almost recalls the truth.” She said. “They gave the shards a name, ‘jiva’ and the whole they call, ‘Atman’.”

 

“Hinduism,” Stiles realized. “You’re talking about Hinduism.”

 

“That which you call one religion is not as such, but more like a class of belief systems with similar characteristics.” The snake chastised. “It would be like calling Judaism, Christianity, and Islam the same religion.”

 

Stiles had to admit the latter suggestion was an insanely bad idea, but he understood the point which was essentially that no man was an island. It was really nice of the snake woman to offer all this advice free of charge. If the gods worked that way. Stiles braced himself and asked, “How do I repay you? For helping me.”

 

The snake woman’s eyes glittered with mischievousness not unlike that of a trickster, but the human instinctively knew that a true-trickster the woman was not. There was a certain vibe he had felt from the fox and the monkey. Traces of that feeling he even sensed from the flowers Stiles’s own benefactor left as a calling card.

 

“Most of the gods seek to complete this soul-puzzle because they believe it is how the universe should be. They will aid humans in finding their missing pieces and bring them together.” The woman explained ignoring Stiles inquiry for the moment. “A smaller fraction believes that this completion would signal a great universal change or bring about the end of days. That smaller faction has become quite content in their current existence and don’t want the great change to happen.

 

“The fox said the word and the void are human things. I am human right?” Stiles asked. “Shouldn’t I be worried about that?”

 

The snake woman shook her head. “The war between the word and the void is a distraction and actions taken on both sides prevent humans from obtaining their true potential.”

 

“The tricksters,” Stiles realized. “They want the change. They’ve wanted it from the beginning. That’s why they gave humans language and fire.”

 

“Most, but not all.” The snake replied. “It’s more accurate to say that the entire situation is for their amusement.”

 

Stiles could agree on that point which reminded him of another. He was hesitant to bring up the subject of payment again, but the snake woman had saved him and, more importantly, was returning him to the human world with information. Doing so not only guaranteed his safe return, but also freed him from the fairy’s curse (well, one of them anyway). As courtesy demanded Stiles asked how he could repay the woman a third time after his second question was met with silence.The woman sat cross-legged and opened her palms to the air. To Stiles’s horror her hands appeared the human’s staff.

“I’ll take this,” the snake woman said. The human gasped and smothered any protests that threatened to escape. It was more than a fair trade, really, but Stiles was still hesitant to relinquish the magical object.

 

“What is more important to you,” she asked, “Going home or learning magic?”

 

“In order to do one I need the other, right?”

 

“Not necessarily.”

 

Stiles huffed. “Yeah, but if I want to make Beacon Hills safe to live in again I need to learn magic.”

 

“Does that make magic more important?”

 

“I guess,” Stiles admitted. The snake looked pleased by this answer which raised the human’s wariness that there were other forces at work. The woman looked like she was internally snickering at a secret joke.

 

“And what then is magic?” The snake tested.

 

Stiles’s answer tripped before it could escape his tongue. He remembered the answer, magic was a means of change, but other that he couldn’t quite articulate the answer the snake woman was looking for. If he didn’t know, how could he expect wield magic?

 

“Listen,” the woman hissed in command. Stiles looked up at her face expecting her to speak, but it was the silence that provided the answer. They had reached the border between the human and spirit realms. It was there that Stiles heard the sounds marching drums.

 

“War drums?” Stiles asked.

 

“Ah, but what are war drums for?” The snake woman asked. “Drums keep pace and raise the spirit and call to arms. That is the sound of the two worlds colliding. It makes that sound so that souls won’t be lost. In their purest forms, the souls will always find their way.”

 

“Magic.” Stiles realized. “We don’t wield magic, we _are_ magic.”

 

“You never needed this staff,” the snake woman told him. “In fact it hinders your progress by giving you something other than yourself to hold on to. If you wish to master magic you need to reach within, not out.”

 

Stiles sighed. “I feel like that’s the lesson every fantasy novel says. There’s no way it’s that easy.”

 

“It’s not easy.” The snake warned. “You will try and fail many times before you master what is already inherently your nature. It’s like learning how to walk for the first time. It’s something expected of you, but it doesn’t happen overnight. The only reason walking happens so quickly is that for a time it is the body and mind’s sole focus, but for an infant it takes a lifetime.”

 

“But what if I don’t have time?” Stiles demanded. “Beacon Hills gets worse and worse.”

 

“Waiting means you grow stronger while your enemies grow weaker.” The snake woman pointed out. “Waiting will only give you an advantage.”

 

Stiles pressed his lips together in frustration. “There has to be a faster way.”

 

* * *

 

 

As promised in exchange for Stiles’s magical staff, the gift from his departed mentor-of-sorts, the snake spirit and her turtle mate returned the human safely back to his rightful realm. Stiles still was doubtful that he could master magic in time to save Beacon Hills. In parting the snake-woman had assured the teen that he had already crossed the threshold of death, fairy, and spirit. Each alone was no small feat and more than the average human could brag about.

 

The complement boosted the human’s spirits and with his spirits lifted Stiles trudged down a wooded path where he hoped to be reunited with his pack. According to the snake spirit his friends had moved on after his disappearance in part to find means of a daring rescue and in part to further their own goals of making it home. Stiles mind drifted as he walked and the human reflected on the creatures and wonders he had seen. With things like dragons and werewolves among them, how did humanity remain so ignorant? Stiles couldn’t understand how the majority of the population remained untouched by the supernatural.

 

A low growl alerted him to the fact that Stiles as not alone in the woods and Stiles had to once again ponder the wisdom of wearing a red hoody. Red just had to be his favorite color even though he still thought Scott was the true red-ridinghood of the bunch. After easing himself into a more defensive position Stiles waited for whoever was sneaking up on him to make their presence known.

 

“¿Qué es?” a tenor voice inquired.

 

It wasn’t a voice Stiles knew and they were close enough to the border of Beacon Hills that Stiles had to consider the possibility that he was in enemy territory. He also considered the possibility that he was about to meet more damn tricksters. The human couldn’t seem to make it through the day without bumping into one. It wasn’t a man that appeared out of the bushes though. Stiles blinked as a young woman, a girl his own age, stared back with big brown eyes.

 

 _Pretty_ , Stiles thought stupidly before he could check himself.

 

“Malia?” the tenor asked again and Stiles’s heart fluttered in relief when he saw that he girl’s companion was old enough not to be a rival. They didn’t look related, but Stiles was trying to keep his spirits up.

 

“Um, hi,” Stiles said weakly as the man notice him. Neither looked impressed by the introduction. “Um…kay pasta?”

 

“What are you doing here?” the tenor man asked in an unamused drawl and notably in perfect English to Stiles’s embarrassment.

 

“Uh, looking for my pack.” Stiles replied cheekily. “You didn’t happen to see any werewolves around, have you?”

 

The girl seemed to twitch at that, but the man responded evenly. “I don’t know of any wolves. Nor would I even be able to see them.”

 

Taking it as a good sign that the man didn’t think he was completely nuts Stiles pressed on, “And why is that?”

 

“Why, because I’m a demon of the void, of course.” The man smiled with a toothy grin. “My name is Juan Borrego and this is my ward, Malia. It’s nice to meet you.”

 

Stiles huffed, “Yeah, this is just great. Just try not to kill me. I’ve already died once and it really, really sucked.”

 

* * *

 

 

As it turned out, demons had AMAZING taste in coffee. Stiles didn’t normally partake, but he had been without his meds for a while. Magic centered him somewhat, but what really helped was whatever secret ingredient was lurking in the mud colored beverage. Stiles’s demonic host seemed pleased by the human’s enthusiasm and almost orgasmic reaction the drink. The girl, Malia, kept treating Stiles with looks of suspicion. It reminded Stiles of Derek, but prettier. He couldn’t get over how pretty she was.

 

“Love is the most potent form of magic,” the demon said casually startling them both. He chuckled when they both glanced away from each other. “Don’t fall in love so easily, little hero. Even in fairytales the happy ending doesn’t come until last page.” He took a sip of his own drink and added casually, “And to my kind they don’t come at all.”

 

“Your kind?” Stiles fished.

 

“Villains.” He said. “What do you know of the Void?”

 

“It’s like a bad thing that drives people bat shit crazy?” Stiles guessed. “Kind of like that minus wave thingy… Oh, shoot. There’s a connection isn’t there? Is this where you talk me into going darkside?”

 

The demon hummed thoughtfully. “Well, the knowledge of the void does usually cause people to lose their shit or creates conflict.”

 

Stiles waited a few moments before prompting, “But…?”

 

Malia rolled her eyes. “Well I’m not crazy.”

 

“Debatable,” the demon teased.

 

“Well, that’s what therapy is for.” Malia crossed her arms and when Stiles looked at her quizzically she explained. “So, like, long story. I was adopted and my real mom was this totally psycho bad-ass assassin and she killed my adopted family, but she didn’t realize I was a shifter so I survived by living as a coyote for a few years. Then Juan found me and changed me back.”

 

“How?”

 

“The void, when used correctly, can work as sort of an anti-magic.” Juan said. “It also helps Malia center herself and stay human. In a few years not even the moon will affect her.”

 

A shiver ran down Stiles spine. “And you’re okay with that? Isn’t being a shifter part of who you are? You can’t just suppress something like that.”

 

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” The demon smiled again. “Would you like to learn? Do you want to know the wicked ways of being a servant of the Void? I could teach you.”

 

“What’s the catch?”

 

“You honestly didn’t think we would just let you leave, did you?” Juan asked sweety. 


	10. The Word and the Void

“Tell me, Stiles,” Juan said between sips of coffee. “How do you feel about prophecies?”

 

“If you’re about to tell me about how I’m supposed to balance the force, I’m calling bullshit.” Stiles told him. 

 

“A fair opinion, I suppose.” The demon chuckled in response to Stiles’s quip. It was always a toss-up on whether or not a villain with a sense of humor was a good thing. Case and point, Peter Hale. 

 

As far as Stiles could tell it was only Juan and Malia present in the small hovel where the duo made their base camp. But Malia was a shifter and Juan claimed to be a demon. As long as he had the element of surprise, Stiles was sure he could handle one shifter. Demons were the unknown element.

Stiles tried not to picture the broken body of Neirin Abmyrddin, the woman who first attempted to teach Stiles magic. She had been too weak herself to defeat her own demons. One thing was clear, however; if the Word and the Void kept cropping up Stiles needed learn why, despite the tricksters’ warnings to ignore it. Demons seemed like the topic to start on since one was conveniently within reach. Screw prophecies. Those things never ended well. Almost like fairytales, really. A whole bunch of crap kept happened until they live happily ever after on the very last page.

 

Juan finished his coffee before handing the empty cup to Malia to take care of. “Although it’s not so much a prophecy as a pattern. I have concluded that there are a number of likely outcomes based on certain events. These events are-“

 

Juan held up one finger. “The displacement and slow eradication of the fairy kind.”

 

He held up a second finger. “The transition of supernatural beings to humans.”

 

A third finger. “The increasing number of death-cheaters.”

 

“What.” Stiles stared at the man blankly.

 

“Fairy populations are becoming more isolated and are dying out.” The demon explained. “Only a few scattered underhills remain. Their people grow small and their rulers grow stupid. In a mere few centuries they will vanish completely.”

 

Juan nodded in Malia’s direction. “The supernatural creatures grow more human by the day. Malia is a rarity. I suspect that hers is the last bloodline that can change completely into their animal selves. All others remained trapped in half-monstrous forms more human than fur. When the fairies die out is when the last shifter shall shift." He turned his gaze back to Stiles. "And it’s not just the weres. Hellhounds, dragons, and creatures of myth have all assumed a human form and will soon be trapped in them.”

 

“And the last point?” Stiles prompted and Juan chuckled with his eyes dancing in amusement.

 

“I call them death-cheaters." Juan explained. "People trying to live beyond the time allotted to them. The gods are willing to bend the rules, bend reality left and right in their sorry attempts to complete their little soul-puzzle.” Juan huffed disdainfully at the idea.

 

Stiles swallowed uneasily. “You’re talking about me.”

 

“I noticed there was just a little something.” Juan admitted. “Don’t worry, I have no intention of taking your second life from you.” Which was by no means reassuring to Stiles when the demon said that. “I will instead relay to you the cost of your remainder years.”

 

“What cost is that?”

 

“You’ve read the works of Tolkien, yes?” Juan asked and Stiles nodded. “There is a theme in them that is often over looked. A missed moral even though it is a central idea to the entire narrative.” He leaned back in his chair and studied Stiles carefully a moment. The human twitched impatiently, but said nothing as Juan gathered his words. “Have you noticed that in Tolkien's stories the ‘good guys’ accept the idea of death and their own deaths with dignity and grace while the ‘bad guys’ try to live beyond their days even at great cost and the suffering of others?”

 

Stiles shook his head slowly. He played back the books and movies in his mind and found what the demon said to be true. The most obvious proof of all was Sauron, the main antagonist of the Lord of the Rings and a _necromancer_. Death-cheater indeed.

 

“Remind me,” Juan taunted bringing Stiles out of his web of thoughts. “What is it again your enemy hopes to accomplish?”

 

“Holy shit.” Stiles muttered. The parallel was there, but if ‘bad guys’ cheated death, then Gerard and Peter were certainly at the top of the list. But then was Stiles himself doomed to villainy? That was the immediate panic driven question on Stiles’s mind. 

 

“Your very existence is leading the world to its doom,” the demon warned. “The void is powerful and very tempting to death-cheaters. They look at you and grow ill with envy. They seek to steal the gift was freely given to you by the gods. These death-cheaters look towards the void when magic and the word fails them. They lose hope and turn to darkness and in the darkness they find only delusions and dreams. The true void is nothing. It is perfectly harmless when you recognize delusions for what they are which is why I remain sane.”

 

“So, you’re dying then?”

 

“Every day I am closer.” Juan admitted and tapped his chest just above the heart. “And every moment could be my last. I looked to the void for peace and rest. Without a heaven to appease and a hell to fear, I have found my bliss.”

 

Stiles turned to Malia and asked, “What about you? How do you feel about all this void stuff?”

 

“I like being a demon,” Malia said. She sat down next to Juan again and tilted her head as she looked at Stiles.

 

“It’s a lot like being a trickster, actually,” Juan said with amusement to his tone. “When you’re a trickster there are so many ‘rules’ and silly things like ‘that SOB is the worst cretin known to man, but you can’t rip out his soul and toy with it’ and ‘people are allowed to make their own mistakes even if it ruins the lives of millions’.”

 

Malia nodded. “So instead of bending the rules we observe them with _stringent_ execution. When you die, you should _stay_ dead.”

 

“I’ll try not to be insulted.” Stiles grumbled. “It’s not like I asked to be revived. This isn’t even my own universe!”

 

“Well, supposedly the gods know what they’re doing and your revival will have minimal consequences.” Juan shrugged. “But the truth is a sad thing. Few can gaze at the truth and accept it for what it is.”

 

“And what exactly is ‘the truth’?”

 

“Weren’t you paying attention, Stiles?" Juan raised a brow. "I said that all sentient creatures are turning into men to survive and the truth is that eventually all men must die. There’s no bright future were we make it to Mars and settle on other worlds and live among the stars.

 

“The _truth_ is that mankind is doomed to destroy itself." Juan warned, "Not tomorrow, not the day after-  But that animosity that the hunters feel for shifters and outsiders? Imagine all that hatred directed at mankind itself. Only this time there isn’t a fuzzy line that they draw in the sand. There won’t be a difference anymore. The human race will be too intermixed. The instinct to purge the outsiders will drive mankind to destroy itself.”

 

“That’s your prophecy?”

 

“That’s the truth.” Juan turned to Malia and gave her a chaste kiss on the brow. The sign of affection caused the young woman to scrunch her nose in displeasure. “Malia already knows of the emotions of which I speak. I was the one who helped her kill her own mother in defense. Without the void to quell her emotions Malia would still be feral.”

 

“So eventually there’s going to be a nuclear holocaust that will wipe out humanity.” Stiles crossed is arms. “Good to know.”

 

“Lead by death-cheaters.” Juan nodded. “The knights of the Word cannot hold them off forever.”

 

“What’s a knight of the Word?”

 

“You might remember some famous ones.” Juan thought for a moment. “General Arthur and his knights were among a few of the more well-known ones. I suspect Tolkien fought alongside one or two in the Great War and that helped shape his stories. I prefer not to know any personally. They tend to be rather bigoted when it comes to demons.”

 

“So they hunt demons?”

 

“Actually, it’s really a terrible gig so I don’t blame them for being cranky.” Juan confessed. “The Lady of the Word gives them a magic staff, but every night they are hounded be dreams of disasters that they’re supposed to prevent. Every night they see the worst humanity has to offer. Every dream they see destruction with only half clues on how to stop it. I'd rather die than suffer that. And for the knights death is their only hope for peace. Their lady conveniently forgets to mention that.”

 

Juan suddenly perked up excitedly. “Actually, have you seen that Doctor Who episode where they go to Pompeii? How the energy blast from the volcano caused a time backlash or something that allowed the girls in the temple to have visions of the future?”

 

Stiles blinked. “I vaguely recall something like that, yeah.”

 

“Well, it just so happens that theory isn’t too far-fetched.” Juan grinned. “That’s how we know about the up and coming nuclear blow-out special. Because the energy released is so massive the effects actually ripple _through_ time and are both measurable and readable by our psychics.”

 

“What did the psychics say about all that?”

 

“I believe her exact words were, ‘Fuck it, I’m going to get a cup of tea.” Juan replied in a dry tone. “If you ever bump into a weird chick offering a free sample and tea reading tell her ‘no, thank you, my love life isn’t any of your business.’ It will save you a massive headache.”

 

“Uh, thanks, for the advice I guess.” Stiles glanced down at his own forgotten mug and took a hesitant sniff. There was only a swig left so Stiles finished off the drink with a grimace. “So, what happens now?”

 

Juan smiled a little less threatening this time. “Do you need to call somebody? They’re probably worried sick about you. Have your friends come pick you up. While we wait I can fill you in on some of the benefits of demon magic. Oh, I do have one condition though.”

 

“What’s that?” Stiles asked warily.

 

“As I said, my life grows short and I am all Malia has.” Juan’s expression turned sad. “I was hoping your pack would be willing to take her.”

 

Stiles looked at Malia in surprise. “You want to join my pack?”

 

Malia leveled him a serious expression. “You’re going after the death-cheater, right? Then yes. I want to go with you. Juan doesn’t think anything can be done, but I’m not going to just let the world end because of idiots.”

 

“Well,” Stiles scratched his head. “Okay, then."


	11. The Demon Pt 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> too tired to edit right now... I spent five hours trying to give life support to my internet connection

Stiles called his father and by the end they were both in tears. Juan, demon though he may have been, offered Stiles and Malia the use of his car. It was a junker at best, but would have enough stamina to get the young man and woman where they needed to go. Stiles missed his friends, his pack, and was anxious to get back to them.

 

Before he could leave, however, there was something Stiles needed to ask. Juan looked amused by the request, but not surprised. Magic just wasn’t working for Stiles, not really well anyway, and Stiles had lost his staff, the artifact that had started him on the quest of magic. The young man realized that he was trying too hard to fill in the shoes of _this_ world’s Stiles. This world’s Stiles was magic, but even that hadn’t saved him.

 

“This is the gritty universe,” Stiles joked. “Maybe it’s time I got down and dirty too.”

 

“Are you sure?” Juan asked. The demon warned that although the change would grant Stiles some immunity to magic, the human would never be able to cast magic in return and the voices of the gods who guide him will be silenced. His trip to Spirit World, which by magic standards was an incredible feat and the envy of mages, would become nothing more than a dream. It would be like stumbling around in a dark room with no light, no hope, and no guide. To venture into the void was madness and it almost certainly brought madness to all who ventured.

 

“How do you stand it then?” Stiles asked. “Why aren’t you crazy?”

 

“Hot chocolate.” Juan admitted point blank.

 

Stiles stared at the man with a raised eyebrow. He had been hanging around with Derek too long, but the hanging question didn’t need to be spoken.

 

Juan rolled his eyes. “Because I can still _feel_. The emotions are muted, but they are still present. I’ll probably never feel the innocent joy of Christmas morning or a truely happy birthday ever again, but I feel like that’s part of growing up. I don’t need to feel unbridled joy or the thirst for vengeance or the burn of romance. Mages will paint me a villain for this, but I don’t need love. To me true love is as much an illusion as fairy godmothers. You’ve met the fae. They’re bitches at best.”

 

“I guess…” Stiles said. “But you’re saying I would have to give up _love_?”

 

“Not the emotion, but the **Word**.” Juan replied with a grin. “Give up the Word and all its platitudes as you would the toys of your childhood. I don’t think of myself as a villain or childish. I see myself as an adult. The Word has seen me though childhood and now I will see myself though the **Void**.”

 

“There is absolutely no reason I should trust you,” Stiles told him. “But you talk a good game. What do you I have to do? Just stop believing in fairy stories?”

 

“That and one more thing.” Juan said. The demon leaned over to whisper the answer in the young man’s ear.

 

* * *

 

Stiles drove to the pack’s location using the GPS on his cellphone. Next to him in the passenger seat of the borrowed vehicle Malia flinched in disgruntlement with each bone jarring pothole. The roads leading to Beacon County hadn’t been used in some time, but they hadn’t been maintained either making the travel less pleasant than it should have been.

 

“Five more minutes,” Stiles assured her.

 

Malia nodded with a half snarl, but then perked up when something caught her senses. Even though her shifter abilities were muted, she was still more alert than Stiles was. She cocked her head in a dog-like manner and before Stiles could ask, he heard it too. The sound of a chorus howls.

 

But it wasn’t a happy greeting that awaited them.

 

Malia opened her door and leapt from the car before Stiles even slowed down and raced ahead. The steering wheel in Stiles’s hands wobbled a bit at the sudden imbalance. The howls and growls that reached his ears was more than his little pack. His pack was locked in battle and as Stiles parked the car he had choice he needed to make.

 

Would he make an attempt with magic or would he accept the way of the void?

 

For him magic had always been iffy at best. He understood it in a generic sense, like he was reading about it in a book. That might have been what was holding him back all this time. In this world he was magic or rather the _other_ him was magic, but was his world really magic? He tried to remember what he could about the Hales in his world. He knew of Derek and his family, but he hadn’t really interacted with them. In his world the Hales were alive and well.

 

Kate hadn’t killed them.

 

His dad had warned him about animal attacks before he had driven like a mad man to Scott’s house which ultimately got him killed.

 

But magic? What if in his world animal attacks were just animal attacks?

 

Kate hadn’t killed the Hales. Did that mean in his world the Hales were just regular humans? Sure there had been a pack of them, but that might have just been because they were a weirdly close family. If Stiles had any brothers or sisters, if his co-dependency with Scott was anything to go by, he’d stick like glue to them too.

 

Stiles scoffed at his old life and his high school problems. In his old life his biggest worry had been some bullying by his classmates. In this world Stiles had been studying magic and fighting monsters while in his old world ordinary humans had seem like vile advisories. It all came down to perception really.

 

If Juan was correct, Stiles could have that again. The man claimed to be a demon, but he had given Stiles something the trickster gods hadn’t; a choice. Stiles could embrace the void and take back his freedom. He’d be free from the tricksters, but not his problems. He still needed to help Scott take back Beacon hills, but he could do it as an ordinary human.

 

He could do it without magic.

 

He could do it as _himself_.

 

* * *

 

The pack had been caught off guard by the army of omegas waiting for them at the place they were supposed to meet with Stiles. Scott roared at the zombie-like wolves to send them away, but even the fear of an Alpha couldn’t get them to move. The omegas were weak and more of a nuisance than a threat to even the pack’s human members. The omegas were skinny, starving, burning with anger and a thirst for blood.

 

Derek could feel the pulse of the minus wave lapping at his mind looking for weaknesses that would draw him away from the safety of the pack. In the corner of his eye he could see the other Betas dealing with the same struggle, but Scott’s howls and snarls kept them sane, for the moment.

 

When they had finished off the majority of the omegas Derek heard a car pull just beyond the tree line. The werewolf tensed when an unknown scent trailed in the wind and a young woman approached at a run to tackle the nearest omega. The young woman smelled vaguely like a shifter, but didn’t show fang or claw. However, her strength was well beyond that of a normal human. It took a few blows, but the young woman was able to bring down the omega werewolf.

 

Following the woman Stiles walked casually out of the tree line carrying a wooden baseball bat over his shoulder. The omegas didn’t even seem to notice he was there. The human boy grinned and walked up to Derek.

 

“You guys sure are popular today,” Stiles quipped before swinging the baseball bat at the head of the closest omega. “Can’t take you anywhere.”

 

“Says the guy who was kidnapped by _fairies_.” Derek snarled back before ripping out the nameless omega’s throat with his claws.

 

“No teeth?” Stiles taunted.

 

“There’s no way I’m putting my mouth anywhere near those things.” Derek told him. “We have no clue where they’ve been.”

 

“Pft, fine.” The human conceded. “Seriously though, what would you guys do without me?”

 

Before Derek answered the werewolf turned his head to get a good look at Stile’s face. The human boy swung again neatly bashing the nose of an omega into the pitiful creature’s brain. Killing the omegas was probably the most merciful action they could do, but Scott didn’t really approve. Hopefully knocking them out would give the pack enough time to flee, but Derek momentarily forgot about the brainwashed wolves.

 

Derek stared as Stiles’s eyes turned from whiskey brown to solid black.

 


	12. The Demon Pt Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead! I am soooooo sorry for how long this took. Between working fulltime and school and haven't had time to write to even write a grocery list this semester, much less a full chapter. The only way this chapter was going to get finished was 2 redbulls and I had to skip my lunch break for two days. But I got it done! Hopefully someday my boss will stop giving me a closing shifts so I can actually get some writing done. It's finals next week and the holiday season after that so I can't predict when the next chapter will happen but this story is definitely NOT dropped and all my other projects are on hold until I get it done. So a super big "thank you" to everyone hanging in there.

Stiles wasn’t sure what he had expected once the transformation into demonhood took hold. A tiny part of him had hoped it would feel just like being a normal human again without having to worry about werewolves, gods, fairies, and creatures of myth. Juan had said that for the most part everything would look as it once did and all Stiles had to in the simplest sense was “turned off” his magic like turning off a faucet. Stiles hadn’t been expecting the out-of-body disorientation that came with it.

 

Logically Stiles knew reality hadn’t changed. Werewolves still existed, obviously, but instead of fangs and claws Stiles saw a crowd of ill-dressed men in women whose empty eyes gave them a drugged stupor look that no voodoo priest would dared have called “zombie-like” without being insulting to zombies. His friends looked normal too. Scott and company didn’t look any bushier. Lydia still managed to look somewhat put-together despite the onslaught (so that didn’t have anything to do with being part fae). Immunity/indifference to the supernatural? Check.

 

What Stiles hadn’t expected was the sudden rush of bloodlust and rage. With instincts as pure as thirst or hunger Stiles felt the weight of the bat in his hands. He clenched and relaxed his fingers once then twice before stalking up towards the next omega with unnatural grace. In a motion all too easy Stiles raised his weapon and struck delighting in the crack of the bat as the blow connected. He could sense the vibrations through his hands and with a cool distance Stiles noted that the slight sting of his arm felt, oh, so _very_ good. The omega’s pain was inconsequential. Stiles didn’t crave the pain of others. He mourned the loss of the muscular ache that ceased once his muscles returned to a relaxed state.

 

Stiles turned his body to efficiently deal another strike and then another. The omega clawed at him in retaliation, but human nails only left a trail of red scratch marks on Stiles’s pale skin.

 

Stiles’s heart beat faster in euphoria. He was immune. Stiles may not have been superhuman like his friends, but _this_ was better. This was _good_.

 

The omega blinked at him in confusion before a final hit from Stiles knocked the wretched creature down and his mind soon drifted to the next target. His muscled ached and burned, but the pain of each strike felt like ecstasy pulsing down his spine to every fiber of his being. The sounds of the battle faded away as his body went through the motions.

 

“Son, stop.” A sharp voice and force yanked the bat away from him breaking Stiles out of his meditative motions. His shoulders protested as someone forced his arms behind his back in a way Stiles would have recognized on someone else, but never had it been done to himself. He struggled as his body was flipped forward on his stomach and a weight pressed on his back.

 

“Stiles!” Scott’s voice sounded distant and commanding making Stiles struggle more.

 

“What’s wrong with him?”

 

“You’re asking me?” Malia snapped defensively. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Liar! Your eyes did the same thing, you freak!” Erica’s voice sounded closer than Scott’s had and Stiles could feel awareness of the world creeping back in. He groaned and tried to shove off the weight that was still sitting on him.

 

“I think he’s coming back around.” Malia told them. “The first time is always the hardest.”

 

“The first time for what?”

 

Stiles couldn’t hear the rest. He felt his body sink downwards and the world went black, again.

 

* * *

 

 

“What is today?” Juan had asked casually.

 

“Friday?” Stiles guessed. The day of the week didn’t really matter when you didn’t have school or a job to worry about.

 

Juan raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”

 

After doing some mental math in his head Stiles nodded with more confidence. “Friday,” he said again.

 

“Ah, but at the same time it isn’t Friday, isn’t it?” Juan pressed.

 

“What?”

 

Juan tapped the kitchen table thoughtfully in a gentle pattern. “It is Friday and it is not Friday. Both of these things are true and false at the same time. They coexist. That is how the Word and the Void can both exist at the same time.”

 

“But how is it not Friday?”

 

“That which you call ‘Friday’ is a social construct. It is a subjective measurement of time. While it is true that today is Friday it is also true that there are no ‘days’ at all and the Earth merely turns on its axis.” Juan explained. “Magic is the same way. Many spells call for ‘virgins’ but virginity is a social construct. It has to real basis in biology. All those stories about ‘popping someone’s cherry’ are entertaining to be sure, but there are just stories.”

 

“So if I were doing a spell that called for a virgin sacrifice I could technically use anybody?”

 

“Not at all. The main ingredient in any magical practice is belief. You would still need someone who meets the social criteria for that reason alone.” Juan paused his finger. “As a demon, to render magic ineffective I don’t need to block the ‘spell’ like a practitioner would. I simply realize that the magic was never really effective in the first place.”

 

“This is some serious Matrix shit that I’m trying to wrap my head around.” Stiles groaned. “Plain English would be nice.”

 

“I’m sure you remember enough from basic high school chemistry the makeup of an atom,” Juan prompted.

 

“Sure. Elections, protons, and neutrons. And the protons and neutrons are made up of even tinier stuff.” Stiles listed.

 

Juan tisked. “You’re forgetting the most abundant and most critical ingredient,” he scolded.

 

Stiles raised an eyebrow.

 

“Pure empty space. What you see is matter, but what exists in great abundance is really nothing at all.” Juan told him. “So what do you see when you look into the Void?”

 

* * *

 

Stiles blinked himself awake out of habit alone. He felt no desire to wake up. He didn’t feel anything at all. Stiles could barely feel the sensation of the hard ground against the back. His hands were free and stung a little from being restrained, but it was a superficial sensation. Stiles wanted to go back to the fight where he felt pain, felt emotion, felt alive. He didn’t want to wake up to a numb feeling and the low buzz of fear.

 

“Are you alright?” His dad asked softly. Stiles’s dad placed a hand on his shoulder gently as if afraid of what the answer would be. Stiles nodded and his dad let go. Looking around Stiles saw the worried expressions of his friends. His dad admitted, “I’m not sure how many more surprises I can take. My diet has nothing to do with it.”

 

Stiles’s mouth tingled with the urge to smile, but he resisted. With some effort he managed to sit up and lean into the warm embrace of his dad.

 

“I think I messed up.” Stiles admitted. He could feel his emotions twisting and turning into a chaotic ball without regard to reason.

 

“You did much more than that.” Lydia snapped. “You turned your back on magic. We had literal _gods_ on our side and you decide to trust the word of some random stranger.”

 

“You know what they say about hermits in stories,” Stiles countered weakly. He shut his mouth when Lydia’s gaze intensified.

 

“You were supposed to be something great.” Lydia told him. She reached into her pocked and pulled out a crumpled orange flower. “You were chosen and you snubbed it.”

 

“It’s just a flower, Lydia.”

 

“It’s a Scarlet Pimpernel!” Lydia corrected. “The _original_ Batman-type hero? You could have been something great and now no one knows what you are.”

 

“A demon,” Stiles whispered softly. “I think.”

 

“Please. As if it were that simple.” Lydia huffed.

 

“Well it’s too late now,” Scott interjected. “I think we all need to rest and regroup. We can’t forget what our original plan was.”

 

“But what are we supposed to do?” Kira asked. “The omegas are getting stronger. Stiles took down a lot, but he didn’t stop.”

 

“Yeah, what if we’re next?” Isaac added. “We’re out numbered as it is. This is even more of a suicide mission than before.”

 

“You’re welcome to leave, _again_.” Derek pointed out.

 

“And go where?” Erica asked. “We wouldn’t last two minutes as omegas. We’d turn into those things.” She pointed to the crumpled bodies of the omegas they had beaten. “We’re stuck on this crazy train and no other pack is willing to take us.”

 

“Gabriel would have,” Isaac muttered. “Scott may be a true alpha, but that pack was stable. Why couldn’t we have stayed?”

 

“If it wasn’t for meddling gods, we would have.” Erica said. “Revenge isn’t worth this, even for Boyd and everyone. I don’t want to die anymore.”

 

“Everyone, Calm. Down.” Scott raised his voice and put his alpha strength behind. “We rest. Then we’ll talk.”

 

Everyone stayed silent after that even if their displeasure rolled off in waves. Stiles waved off his dad once he was back feet. Isaac and Erica growled a Malia until Scott gave them a warning glance. Malia just shrugged and placed herself between Lydia and Kira.

 

Stiles reached into his pocket and pulled out the key to Juan’s car. “Hopefully there still some gas left,” he muttered.

 

Derek reached over and snatched the key from Stiles’s hand. “I’ll get it.”

 

Stiles huffed and lead the way. He puzzled over Juan’s words again now that they were fresh on his mind. I thought of it less like natural law and more like quantum physics. On the quantum level the “known rules” broke down. It wasn’t his area, but it was something to think about. He couldn’t flip the freak out every time he gazed into the Void. It would take time, but Stiles refused to see himself turn into a monster.

 

Once they were out of ear shot from the others Stiles looked over at Derek and asked, “Who are you?”

 

Derek stiffened.

 

“You’re like me, aren’t you,” Stiles whispered thoughtfully. “I didn’t notice before because of trying to figure out all that magic crap, but this isn’t your world either.”

 

Derek sighed. “No. It’s not.”

 

“Then why are you even here? Why do this, with us?” Stiles asked. He paused. “Oh, my god. You’re dead too, aren’t you? Shit, man. I’m sorry. I forgot that. I’m an ass.”

 

“It’s okay.”

 

“It’s really not.”

 

The awkward silence stretched all the way until they reached the car.

 

“You don’t want them to know that you’re not their Derek.” Stiles guessed. “Why?”

 

“Because I want to be.” Derek admitted. “Anything is better than who I was. The fox gave me a second chance. I got all of this Derek’s memories I’m just like him anyway. This is my penance.”

 

“What’s different?” Stiles asked dying of curiosity. “In your world, what happened?”

 

At first Stiles didn’t think he would get an answer, but then almost too quiet to hear Derek replied.

 

“The last memory I have from my world is I died in a house fire." He said, "And it was my girlfriend who lit the match and my whole family burned alive that night. No one survived.”

**To Be Continued...**


	13. A Tactical Retreat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not edited because I wanted to post it as fast as possible. Sorry for any errors.

Derek was about to turn the key in the ignition when Stiles reached over to stop him. “We should leave.” Stiles said. “They’re not ready. We’re not ready. If we tried and take back Beacon Hills now everyone is going to die.”

 

“So you just want to run away?” Derek asked appalled. “Take the easy way out?”

 

“It’s not the easy way.” Stiles corrected. “It’s a _hard_ choice. It’s the _right_ choice. It’s the decision nobody else would think to make. We’re not heroes, Derek. We’re just kids.”

 

“And how is running supposed to help?”

 

“We can still get stronger, smarter. We need more time.” Stiles pleaded. “Scott thinks he can pull this off with just the few of us, but you _know_ I’m right. We’re going to _lose_.”

 

“We have literal gods on our side, remember?” Derek countered.

 

“You mean nature spirits with a hidden agenda.” Stiles corrected. “I’ve been to their world. That makes me the expert here.”

 

“And your expert opinion is to run.”

 

“If we run, the pack will chase us.” Stiles pointed out. “Scott wouldn’t leave us behind. He’s proved that. The best way we can help the pack is to buy them more time.”

 

Derek still looked dubious, but he nodded in agreement. He turned the car on and turned it around to the opposite direction of Beacon Hills. The car wasn’t fast, but they would be able to get a good lead on the other vehicles the pack had acquired. Stiles sighed in relief and smiled at Derek thankfully.

 

“You’re the be best, man.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ten days later Stiles and Derek found themselves in Texas. The climate reminded them a little bit of home once they got past the desert parts. The food wasn’t half bad either and included the best Bar-B-Q Stiles had ever had in his life (either really). The local dialect sped up from a slow, lazy drawl to more like they were used to the closer to they got to the heart of the state. Neither Stiles nor Derek had been prepared for just how big the state really was. One local bragged that from Texarkana to El Paso was the same distance as El Paso to Los Angeles and Stiles believed it.

 

The two travelers couldn’t stay in the same place for long with the pack tracking them. Once Juan’s car broke down for good they changed it up by taking Gray Hound busses. Derek promised that the switch to public transportation would make it nearly impossible to the pack to find them. Stiles wasn’t taking anything chances though. They changed busses several times and purposely left articles of clothing on busses traveling in different directions.  They switched into clothes they picked up at a Goodwill store to further mask their scent.

 

The whole trip was killer on Derek’s senses, but at least they had a destination in mind. A stroke of luck and Google-fu revealed that Juan hadn’t been the only sane demon kind. There was another demon and hopefully one who could give Stiles advice on how to keep all his mental faculties. Stiles could feel the loom of insanity and blood lust over him. Derek was able to help him keep control with some techniques he knew from being a werewolf.

 

The demon in question had agreed to meet at a McDonald’s because everyone involved was on a budget. After nearly a week and a half on the barest of rations (minus one Bar-B-Q splurge) Stiles was graving French fries. They had had to relied on Derek’s more primal skills more than once on the trip.

 

Stiles knew in an instant who she was. A tan-skinned woman in her early 30s with her dark, wavy hair tied back into a tight bun walked in wearing a full uniform and utility belt. After a quick glance around out of habit the woman spotted Stiles and Derek and sat down at their table.

 

“You’re a cop?!” Stiles gasped

 

“Yup,” the woman replied popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. “Going on six years now. It pays the bills at least.”

 

She reached out her hand for Stiles to shake. He returned the gesture still stunned before dropping her warm hand so she could shake Derek’s hand next. “Officer Julie Martinez”

 

“You’re like me.” Stiles blinked. “But don’t they require like psych evals and shit?”

 

“Pass with flying colors.” She shrugged. “I get ‘flagged’, I guess you could say, for having an ‘alternative lifestyle’, but everything else is pretty normal.”

 

“Alternative lifestyle?”

 

“LGBT. In my line of work that’s not something you want to advertise.” She confessed. “We call the stupid shrink they city pays ‘Jabba the Hut’. She’s like three hundred pounds, losing her hair, and is a slum lord on the side. True story. Which is why I lean towards ‘self-help’.”

 

“The demon thing.”

 

“The demon thing.” She agreed. “I’m more resilient against depression and my anxiety is manageable now. For me, it was a good change and something I needed.”

 

She leaned forward with her elbows on the table. “It’s an old term, ‘demon’. It’s a misinformed term. _Magic_ is for children. Magic is for dreamers. You’ve taken the first step to waking up, which is good. Now we can help you.”

“We?”

 

“My teacher has agreed to train you and your companion.” Officer Martinez quoted, “ _On the way there are no secrets if one has the determination and patience to look._ ”

 

“What way is that?” Derek asked curiously.

 

“It’s not magic.” Officer Martinez promised. “It’s even better.”

 

* * *

 

 

Julie Martinez’s teacher was apparently a cranky, sarcastic Vietnam vet named “Sal” who demanded only the upmost respect (and top quality sass) from his students. He pointed to a red haired girl who looked to be about Stiles age and told her to “get the newbies settled in.” The redhead nodded with a bored look and took them next out back to the smallest house Stiles had ever seen. It was about as big as a train caboose with two separate sleeping lofts on opposite sides. There was enough room for one couch, one table, a tiny kitchen, and one bathroom.

 

“Julie said she’s cover the rent until you guys get back on your feet.” The red head said. “You break anything I’ll make you build me a whole new house.”

 

“You built this?” Derek asked.

 

“Yes, I run my own tiny house business.” The girl explained. “I spent four years in working for Habitat for Humanity. It’s easy enough with the right crew.”

 

Stiles looked around again impressed. “How old are you?”

 

“Twenty-eight.”

 

Stiles nearly choked on his own spit. “You’re older than me? What do you do? Bathe in the blood of virgins or something?”

 

Finally, the red head cracked a grin. “No. You’ll see what I do soon enough. You can settle in now. Sal says you can start tomorrow.”

 

“Start what tomorrow exactly?”

 

The red head’s grin grew wider and she chose to answer by turning around and walking out the door.

 

* * *

 

 

"Tomorrow" turned out to be a five AM wake-up call followed by a seven and a half mile run, not jog, _run._ Sal proceeded to taunt his students that the children and grannies of Chan village could run faster than them. The other students, including the red haired woman, just chuckled or panted and pushed on. It gave Stiles comfort to know that the other students were panting just as hard as he was. The red haired woman, _Michelle_ , she finally introduced, giggled and said Americans are wimps. Sal wasn’t kidding about the village, in China apparently, were everyone trained for ten hours a day in the family style.

 

“Chan Family Boxing,” Michelle explained. “Known in China as the ‘ _Grand Ultimate Fist_ ’.”

 

Over breakfast Michelle and the other students regaled Stiles and Derek stories of the ‘Grand Ultimate Fist’ making Stiles feel like he had somehow left a teen horror story and suddenly found himself in a martial arts movie, but as they went around and explained he began to get more and more intrigued. After the dishes were washed and put away Michelle talked their teacher into doing a quick demonstration on Derek.

 

Derek was reluctant at first to use his strength on a human, but after some goading he finally threw some punches and landed on his ass every time. Sal explained that the style had only been taught to family members for almost 20 generations. It was only in this most recent generation that the Grand Masters agreed to teach American enthusiasts. Sal hasn’t explained how he got into the style, but he was the disciple of one of the Grand Masters’ sons.

 

Stiles and the rest of the class were novices. If they studied hard for five years they could claim the title of “disciple”. If they continued working for ten years they could take lessons under the family directly.

 

“Women can’t be Grand Masters,” Michelle explained. “Not that I could be anyway. The Chinese have a saying that ‘to truly master something you must practice for ten thousand hours.”

 

Stiles did the math in his head. If he practiced diligently for eight hours every day, it would take him five years, but like Officer Martinez and Michelle he would have to get a day job and a life. Sal had made clear that this wasn’t a charity.

 

“This is how you do it.” Officer Martinez said when she dropped by to check on them after her shift. “There is a demon inside you now, but you can make yourself stronger than it. You can quite its voice with meditation. You can defeat it by building up the strength in your body. If you can overcome this demon you will be unbeatable in every other aspect of life.” She made sure to spare Derek a knowing glance too.

 

“Magic isn’t the end all, be all.” Martinez explained. “The problem is people give up too soon or aren’t willing to give up the time.”

 

“You said your demon is quiet now?” Stiles asked. “How?”

 

“You don’t have magic anymore, but everyone has chi.” Martinez told him.

 

Stiles hadn’t understood at first. He thought chi was a kind of magic. Instead they taught him that “chi” just meant energy and he already knew the properties of energy. Energy can’t be created or destroyed. Energy can’t be stolen or taken away. It wasn’t magic because it was purer than magic. Energy could change form from the potential energy of his muscles before a strike. When facing an opponent it wasn’t about manipulating their body, it was about controlling their energy flow. A punch, a kick, it didn’t matter because it was a flow of energy.

 

“The key is to relax,” Michelle explained as Derek and Stiles practiced ‘growing roots’ (as Sal called it). Sitting meditation wasn’t going to do Stiles any good, but standing meditation was different all together. He could feel his thighs shaking as he focused his mind in a pattern: check the weight, elbows below wrists, arms extended, back open, shoulders relaxed. He couldn’t even focus on his breathings because of everything else going on. Instead he had to almost focus on every single muscle trying to make it relax.

 

“It’s all about physics,” Officer Martinez explained. “Force equals mass times acceleration. We can’t change our mass in a fight, but if we relax we can change our speed and focus all that force on a single point.” Sal emphasized this principal by sending Derek flying back four feet just by twisting his body.

 

“What’s the matter?” Sal taunted as the group stood on shaking thighs while holding a posture so he could go around and correct them. “You’re just standing there.”

 

The students responded by rolling their eyes.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: The "Jabba the Hut" thing is true. That's what the local officers call their shrink. HUGE lady who looks like she should be IN therapy not giving it. There was a rumor she was a slum lord on the side.


	14. Preparation Montage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 3AM. Grammar? What Grammar?
> 
> My biggest hiccup (aside from working full-time and over-time in a soul-sucking job) is apparently I can't write romance for shit. Thank you for your patience while this internal error is resolved. I'm not going to lie, this chapter is almost "Matrix Reloaded" levels of "oh, crap what do I do now?" Plot. Regardless, enjoy!

Six months later Stiles and Derek were finally allowed to learn the form. Well, an abridged part of the form anyway. The real form had 108 movements. Derek and Stiles were only going to learn twelve for expediency. The term “movements” was misleading, however. Each movement was made up of a series of moves, some long, some short, so that an opponent wouldn’t be able to break the pattern. Stiles and Derek studied diligently. The negative effects of the zombie apocalypse back home were still weighting on their minds and they couldn’t afford to wait ten years.

 

Officer Martinez was sure that twelve movements would be enough self-discipline for Stiles to keep his demon in check and while they wouldn’t be able to go toe-to-toe with any masters or advanced students, it would be enough the most common threats, supernatural or otherwise.

 

Sal, being a Texas native, explained to his students that knowing martial arts was great, but it really was just damage control until you could get your gun. Officer Martinez nodded in agreement while Michelle quietly promised to loan Stiles some books on nonviolent tactics and diplomacy. Michelle believed best victory was avoiding fighting all together. Everyone agreed, however, that if it came down to a choice between their life and yours, your own life was priority.

 

After almost a year into their training Sal finally allowed Derek and Stiles to spar a little. They would practice every night while all the other students had gone home. A key difference between internal and external martial arts when it came to sparring was the speed. Internal martial arts were like a chess match. The point was to “listen” to your opponent and counter appropriately with a force that was gentle as a feather. Sal had explained that if you moved fast enough you could hide your flaws, but if you moved slowly there was no hiding. Relaxation was a learned skill and Sal spent weeks fostering the delicate connection between them. Stiles and Derek would spend hours “sparring” barely touching each other feeling the other’s tension, emotions, and breath as they moved in choreographed war dances.

 

Eventually the pair became relaxed enough that they could practice without the watchful eye of their teacher and one evening the last match ended with a gentle press of lips that shocked both out of their meditative states. The pair separated in without a word and Derek left before he could see the expression on Stiles’s face.

* * *

 

 

“I love him, but I’m not _attracted_ to him.” Derek confessed over a beer courtesy of Officer Martinez. She had just finished a double shift and agreed to coach Derek through his emotional crisis.  

 

“Coming from an aromantic lesbian; Attraction isn’t everything, sweety.” Officer Martinez treated herself to one beer that she sipped on carefully in anticipation of driving later. Derek was less conservative about his intake and nearly choked mid swallow at the unexpected confession.

 

“I love my girlfriend,” Martinez said not going into specifics on what “aromantic” meant. She assumed Derek had at least _some_ idea since he was a Californian native.

 

“You don’t know how badly I wish there were Hollywood movies for people like me.” She said, “My girl’s wicked smart and she’s _loyal_. Which is more than you can say about most high school relationships. Listening to kids gush about their ‘ _two-week_ anniversary’ never fails to crack me up.

 

“The moment I fell in love with my girlfriend was when she said it was _okay_ to take the slow route. She believed you shouldn’t be so quick to fall in love, because even in fairy tales the happy ending doesn’t come until the _last_ page.”

 

Officer Martinez paused to signal the bartender. Once her beer was finished she switched to a water and lemon.

 

“I hear my coworkers bitch all time.” She groaned. “‘My ex-wife this’, ‘My girlfriend that’, and you have no _idea_ how many domestics I have to deal with because people based their ideal relationship on _attraction_ instead of common sense.”

 

Derek scowled at that slightly offended.

 

“I’m not trying to belittle romance just because I don’t get what all the fuss is about,” She quickly assured him. “But my girlfriend… well, she still took a chance on me. She was the only one in my life willing to meet me where I was at and not follow some convoluted Hollywood magic formula.”

She gave Derek a saucy grin. “Also, the sex is amazing. It’s complicated because of our boundaries and quirks, but we make it work.”

 

“You took the slow path.” Derek summarized.

 

“For _years_ I watched everyone I went to high school with take the straight path up the mountain while I felt like I was being left behind. Now I realized I was just taking the long winding path. It took longer, it took time, it took effort, but it was worth it in the end.” Officer Martinez shrugged. “We all end up in the same place in the end. I just realized early on to take my time.”

 

“So, I should take my time.” Derek repeated in a tone that was unconvinced.

 

“Exactly. Focus on your training for now. It’s okay to take care of yourself first and focus on one thing at a time. What do you need the most right now?”

 

“…I need to focus on rebuilding my pack.” Derek said weakly.

 

Officer Martinez took a final swig of her drink and moved the empty mug off to the side for the bartender to pick up. “Yes, but is that because that’s what you want or is that because you feel obligated? I’m going to be honest I don’t talk to any of my friends from high school anymore. It might be time to let those relationships go.”

 

Feeling dejected that he hadn’t received and easy answer Derek stood up to leave and reached in to his pocket for some cash. She studied him carefully before asking, “Then let me ask you this: What’s _really_ sexy? A nice pair of boobs or somebody who you _know_ is going to be there no matter what life throws at you? Because you know all boobs are going to sag eventually, right?”

 

Derek got home a little later and Stiles was waiting for him on the couch. Stiles took a breath before standing up. As he hugged Derek tightly “You’re my pack.” Stiles promised.

 

“I know,” Derek replied softly.

 

In the following weeks Sal chose not to comment on the sudden increase of tension clearly visible in their practice and instead focused on details in the form.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek tensed and paused the latest marvel movie rental just as someone knocked on the door. Stiles stood up puzzled. The students never knocked, but by the time Stiles opened the door he couldn’t say he was surprised by who was waiting on the other side. Scott looked older, harder and more tired.

 

“It took you a while.” Stiles said after a moment.

 

“Yeah, despite your dad’s resources it looks like one of the local PD was interfering.” Scott explained. “Are you ready?”

 

“I’m not going home, Scott.” Stiles told him firmly. “Beacon Hills isn’t home anymore.” Before Scott could object he added, “But we can help you reclaim yours.”

 

* * *

 

 

The pack was tense and didn’t welcome them back with open arms. Hardly any words were spoken as they drove the last few hours to the Beacon Hills city limits. That was just fine with Stiles. He and Derek would do what needed to be done and then the pack go their separate ways. They would fight this time and they would win. They had confidence in the style they were learning and swore that no enemy could force them to the ground. Unlike the others who were tense the last leg of the trip, Stiles kept his body loose, relaxed, _prepared_.

 

“Come with me,” Stiles pleaded softly. Derek glanced him in confusion. “To Chan village,” Stiles clarified. “I have control of my demon now, but I want to keep practicing.”

 

“Can you afford it?” Derek asked. “Michelle said the private school wasn’t cheap.”

 

“I’ll work in the village until I can. Visas, taxes, I don’t care. I’ll work it out.” Stiles promised. “I’d work for your share too.”

 

“You won’t have to.” Derek said. “I have some savings, I think. This world’s Derek never touched the insurance money. We could use that.”

 

Stiles smiled. “So, when we survive this one we’ll go to China and train for twenty years. Then we’ll travel all around the world challenging different schools. We could be the Invincible Hale and Stilinski. They’ll make movies about us.”

 

Derek took his hand. “Okay. Together.”

 

“Together,” Stiles promised.

 

Scott spoke up then, “We’re here.”

 

* * *

 

 

“One last thing before you take off, kiddo.” Officer Martinez had grabbed Stiles by the arm before he could leave and placed a small book in his hand. “Something to read on your drive.”

 

Stiles still felt the weight of the book in his pocket as the pack all stepped cautiously out of their cars. The book was in code so only he and others like him, other demons, could understand.

 

_Carry the truth, earn the truth the hard way; by working for it. What the scientist actually sees through aided or unaided sight, what the poet dreams and the prophet has revealed you must find through argument, analysis, doubt, and, yes, disinterest. It is not the duty of truth to solve practical problems or to solidify civic bonds. Seek the truth not for its consolation or it's finality, but for the love of wisdom and the possibility of "getting it right" even if that means ill news._

“We could die here,” Stiles whispered for Derek’s ears only. “They’re not ready for this. There’s no way for us to be ready for this.”

 

Before Derek could acknowledge his understanding the odds of what exactly they were facing came into view. Beacon Hills city was in ruins. Zombie omega wolves lay collapsed where their life force had been completely drained. At the crest of the carnage stood three figures waiting for them; Gerard Argent looked far livelier than a geriatric patient had a right to be. Peter Hale looked only slightly better off than the omega’s had, but as always he had a smug air about him. And lastly-

 

“Theo Raeken?” Scott and Stiles gasped in shock.

 

“You know him?” Derek whispered quietly.

 

“Yeah, from like the fourth grade,” Stiles hissed.

 

“Stiles,” Derek said knowing he wouldn’t have been able to see. “His eyes just turned black.”

 

“...He’s a demon.”


	15. The Last Page

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am soooo sorry for how short this chapter is, but the only thing missing is an epic battle scene, which a) I can't write to save my life and b) doesn't actually further the plot. So this is the end.

Derek was shocked by the carnage before them. Gerard had already sucked the life out of the omega weres, hapless pawns turned and then rejected by Peter, no doubt. Derek didn't recognize the young man standing with them. It was a daunting task before when they were only concerned with the radical hunter. Having to fight an alpha made the task impossible, but Derek had already known that. He wondered if dying for a second time was easier than the first. Just as the thought struck him Derek saw the young man's eyes turn black. _A demon._ There must have been a signal of some kind because it was at that moment that all three villains attacked. 

Gerard moved to fast and too strong for an old man. He easily over powered Erica and Issac while Scott and Kira focused on Peter. The fight wasn't like in the movies. It was too quick. The pack tired too quickly. Four minutes drained them like they had been fighting for hours. Derek was bruised, beaten, sliced open by alpha claws that slowed to heal. He could feel his life burning away, then oozing. He felt a hand around his throat and the world turned black.

* * *

 

_Through a dark haze Derek sees a beautiful blue-black boy is squatting, staring at a parade of ants as the march alone a stone floor. The little boy is laughing. Derek comes up behind the boy and asks, ”Why do you laugh?”_

_The boy turns and says, “Do not ask unless you are willing to be hurt.”_

_“I do ask." The words feel foreign on Derek's tongue and the language unfamiliar. "Please instruct me.”_

_“I have known the Indras before you. I have seen them come and go, come and go. Vishnu sleeps in the cosmic ocean, the lotus of the universe grows from his navel. On the Lotus sits Brahma, the creator. He opens his eyes the world comes into being. He closes his eyes and the world goes out. When he dies another lotus grows, another Brahma. There may be men in your court who could volunteer to count the drops of water in the oceans or the grains of sand on the beaches, but no one would count those Brahmin.” The boy points to the parade of ants, “Former Indras all.”_

_Derek's dream catches fire and shines with bright burning orange. It's his last memory from the fire. In the flames a fox appears and says, "Hello, Indra."_

 

* * *

Derek gasped and sat up. Stiles managed to pull back just in time to keep his nose from being broken. Derek glanced around confused. Gerard was laying down with a vacant look in his eyes. Erica stood above Peter's body. Her hands are dripping with the alpha's blood and she flashes her crimson eyes at Derek before both she and Isaac walk away without a word. Malia nodded at Stiles before catching up to Isaac and taking his hand. 

"We won." Stiles said quietly. "Something happened when you fell."

"Something?" Derek prompted. 

Stiles shrugged. "I don't know how to describe it. It's almost enough to make me believe in magic again." Stiles helps him stand. "My dad and Melissa are going with Scott and Kira. Kira says her parents will help them get settled and my dad will make sure Scott has a pack."

"And you?" Derek asked hesitantly. "You're not going with them."

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "You and I have to go, remember? I want to find out what happened. You- it was _amazing_ Derek. I never knew-"

"And you think you can find out?"

"It's not magic." Stiles swore up and down. "It's better. It's amazing. I want to find out the truth. Come with me?"

Derek looked at the destruction around them. Beacon Hills wasn't home anymore. This _world_ wasn't his home. He was just passing through, but the hopeful expression on the demon boy next to him made Derek think it could be worth the journey. 

"Okay," he agreed. "Together."

For some reason the packs departure felt less like an ending and more like a beginning. Derek hoped it wasn't a fairy tale beginning because everybody knows that in fairy tales the "happily ever after" doesn't happen until the very last page. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew~~! This is the longest fic I've ever written so it was very educational for me on what my abilities and weaknesses are. Time constants and RL stuff interfered a lot more than I would have liked, but over all I really enjoyed writing this. This was more of a "make it up as you go" exercise, which is fun, but I think I'll stick to shorter fics (like the first part) and finish before I post from now on. Thanks to everyone for reading!


	16. Author's Note: Part 3

Hello everyone!

I just wanted to assure everyone still interested that I _**will**_ be making a part three if it's that last thing I do. I've had a really rough semester; I was planning on graduating this year but it got pushed back because I had to drop a class and I don't have an internship or a job lined up which is an actual requirement for my degree plan. Need job to graduate-》job requires degree + experience -》need job to get degree + experience -》divide by zero. It's a terrible cycle. 

Thank you for your patience!

**Author's Note:**

> You made it this far, you might as well comment. ;)


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